


The Warsaw Posting

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Espionage, M/M, Pre World War II, Romance, Violence, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 02:11:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Navy Attaché Arthur Pendragon is actually a SIS spy working in pre-war Warsaw. Merlin is an impoverished aristocrat who gets his heart. Spy games come to pose a threat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Warsaw Posting

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by noxelementalist. Based on Spies of Warsaw, book and TV mini series. This story is a year old, took me a while putting it out, so that's why it's based on a show that aired a while ago.
> 
> My thanks also go to Miriam_Magdal for providing info on the history and geography of Poland.

Before pushing it back into the envelope Arthur stared at the letter, rounding the edges of the paper as his fingers drew back and forth patterns across its length. The envelope itself was already addressed. All the letter needed was for it to be stamped and sealed. Then it would reach its destination. The blessings of air mail.

With a sigh, he put the letter back into a drawer, there to be forgotten till the next time the urge struck him to confirm he had a way out. Sometime soon, he told himself. 

“Still meditating requesting a transfer?” Alice asked as she lowered herself on the edge of his desk.

Arthur compressed his lips, not quite meeting Alice’s eyes. “I can’t say I’m not. Borsch is hard to digest.”

Alice arched an eyebrow. “And here I was thinking you were missing London’s fog, Commander.”

“Not as such,” Arthur said. “I just wish things were different.” He paused, thinking back to the data gathered over the past few months. “They’re re-arming and you know it.”

“And that’s why you’re here, Commander,” Alice said in her wise tone. “In case the need arises.”

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know. I do want to do my duty. I just wish it was different.”

Arthur knew he wasn’t the only one to wish the world were different, and that Alice had more reason to fear new political and strategic developments than some people had. She had already survived one war and buried many friends. She was sure to be dreading another. Whoever was wise would do so, and she was. Yet, going by her attitude, you wouldn’t be able to tell there was a shadow hanging over her. For one she was always poised. For another she always had a comforting smile ready for most everybody. As she did now. 

“I’m sure you were just wishing you didn’t have to go to the embassy gala party,” she said. 

Subtle conversation changer that was. “How did you guess?”

Alice leant over to pat his hand, his knuckles still raw from a three-day old boxing match, and he squeezed her fingers. “That melancholy air of yours could mean nothing else,” she said.

“Those parties are always the same,” Arthur said, not stating an untruth. “Boring chit chat and nothing else.”

She tsked. “Boring chit chat brings connections about,” she said. “Connections are the very soul of espionage.”

He snorted at her use of the word, a word he disliked. “And that’s why, reluctantly, I’m going.”

“You needn’t be so reluctant, Arthur,” Alice said. “I’ve asked around and found you someone to accompany you.”

Arthur palmed his forehead, his elbow digging into mahogany. “Please, Alice, tell me you didn’t set me up with a society belle of some sort. I’ve been avoiding one all day.”

“Oh, yes, Commander,” she said, “you played tennis this morning.”

“I was liaising,” Arthur pointed out though it was not strictly true. He just loved sports and took the time to indulge every few weeks. His position helped him secure the best time slots at the most exclusive tennis club in Warsaw; the curiosity he garnered as a foreigner helped him find opponents willing to test his mettle.

“If you say so,” Alice said. “And, no, I haven’t found you any social butterfly, but rather a dinner companion to defend you from your legion of admirers.”

“It’s the foreign accent,” Arthur said, addressing the admirer question, though he rather thought it was the rumours surrounding him that provoked the reaction Alice described. The secrecy around him made him enticing. It was part of his job; nobody knew much about it or him. The fact that he was an aristocrat was common knowledge though few Poles had so far tried to suss out his position in what they perceived to be the English social hierarchy. Most thought he’d climbed through the Navy ranks simply because of his father. But nothing more was known. Nobody asked him directly, preferring not to settle the issue or to do it by way of simple fantasising. Most members of the Warsaw jet-set, an international crowd these days, would probably have considered a direct question a faux pas, a gaucherie, none of them were willing to commit. They preferred pure speculation to fact. Arthur liked it that way and never did anything to change the status quo. It benefited him, and he saw no reason to change.

“Whatever you say, dear,” Alice said. “I’ve found you a person sure not to admire you.”

“I don’t know whether I should be offended or thankful. Who’s this person?”

“A freelance translator who's worked conferences and embassies,” Alice said. “The son of an impoverished Polish nobleman who fought for the country's independence, until, that is, the end of the Great War made his activities redundant.”

Arthur grimaced. “My Polish is still not of the best.” 

“He's also the son of a British citizen,” Alice supplied. “His mother was a Welsh governess who came over when her employer married a Polish magnate. He's bilingual.”

Arthur was still not sure accepting was a good idea. “I still don't know him.”

“You can also go stag,” said Alice.

“And attract the attentions of Countess Sophia?” Sophia wanted to marry him. Arthur couldn't afford encouraging such connections, not with his job. Besides, she was too young and there was no spark between them. She'd probably deluded herself into thinking there was, but the truth was that she was fascinated with the mystery she couldn't crack and, considering her social standing, he couldn't make things as clear as he would have wanted, thus occasioning a diplomatic breach of etiquette. She wanted more from him than a tumble and he couldn't give her that. Besides, there were things she and most of the world beside didn't know and mustn’t. Keeping his distance was the better option.

Arthur read Alice's grimace as an I-told-you-so. “Then I'll ring the Balinowski household and say you'll pick your companion up towards eight.”

“Nine,” Arthur said, needing relaxation after the day he'd had. “I need a shower first.”

“Oh, you mean to arrive fashionably late.”

The clock was ticking on the mantelpiece. It was nearing six. He pushed his chair back and levered himself up. “No, far from it. And since that's the honest truth, I'd better get going.”

Alice nodded. As Arthur put on scarf and overcoat she searched her desk. Having found the piece of note paper she had been looking for, she slipped it into his coat's pocket. “Name and address are on the note.”

Patting his pocket to indicate the note was safe there, Arthur nodded. He quickly kissed Alice's cheek and headed out, Alice's, “Be nice to your dinner companion,” floating after him.

 

**** 

 

Arthur wasn't lying when he said he wanted a shower. He'd had one at the Tennis Club earlier today, but had since spent hours at the office, typing up reports, fielding calls from the Home Office, and reporting to his direct superior in Warsaw, which meant that he'd gone into the man's office, had had a disagreement that had set his jaw ticking, stomped out, and then returned when he felt cooler and less likely to explode. (Insisting their contact continue on with his assignment was madness.) When he was calmer, though no less worried, he'd taken to pacing up and down in order to achieve peace of mind, and sweated majestically for his pains.

Since that was the case, a soak was what was needed. And perhaps together with it, he could chase after some pleasure too. Nothing would relax him as much as taking care of himself.

Warmth seeped into his bones as water cascaded over him. He soaped his hands and worked a lather down his chest, washing off the sweat and dust of the office. When he was clean, he slipped his sudsy hand between his legs. He leant his head against the shower wall and closed his eyes, water hammering on his back. With his hand slick from the soap, he yanked, then changed his tempo and twisted his fist around the head of his stiff cock, swiping away those drops of pre-come that were seeping from the slit.

His breath quickened and his face heated. The slicker his length got with pre-come, the faster his movements got. His balls pulled in tight to his body, his belly muscles tightened and he had to grit his teeth to ride out his orgasm. He watched his come spiral down the drain and found himself missing the shadow of someone else's touch.

Later, mellower, but probably in a mood not dissimilar to the one he was experiencing before seeing to himself, that was to say rather inexplicably dissatisfied, he donned his uniform and treated his hair to a quick comb down. Impeccably attired as only an officer could be, he drove into the old town, the note with name and address of his evening companion spread out on the steering wheel so he wouldn't forget it. 

The building the man lived in was old and dilapidated but had clearly once been a mansion belonging to the nobility. It was now divided in smaller flats, and the one the note directed him to was on top of three flights of stairs.

Taking in the dusty banisters, the stair treads needing repair, and the peeling bits of plaster that snowed on him from the ceiling, Arthur began to see why Alice had made use of the word impoverished. The state the building was in defined penury. 

Trying not to dwell on the material circumstances too much, Arthur knocked on the door. A balding man in his late forties opened. 

Arthur sidled from foot to foot. “Hello, I'm Arthur Pendragon, from the Embassy. I'm looking for Wojchiech Balinowski,” Arthur said, as politely as he could whilst he was being glared at by the person who'd got the door.

The man looked at him grimly, weighing him, then turned. “Wojtek, your embassy date has arrived.”

Arthur stepped inside, unable to refrain from scanning the man, the flat (less dingy and in need of a scrub than the exterior) and the hall for the arrival of his plus one.

For as long as they were alone, Arthur and the man who'd opened the door didn't exchange a word, the man going to his type-writer to slave away at it, but then Woichiech, or the person Arthur supposed to be Woichiech, appeared. 

He seemed to be young, younger than Arthur most definitely, an innocent, open smile painted on his lips. Most people Arthur knew would have faked that smile. Woichiech's was genuine. Arthur instinctively liked it.

Just like Arthur who was wearing his uniform, Woichiech had opted for formal wear in the shape of an evening coat hiding a cream and black striped waistcoat. A bow tie set off the outfit. 

Tall, lean, and wide shouldered as he was, the man looked very good.

Even though the cut of the ensemble wasn't fashionable, rather giving off older garment vibes, it still made an impression. 

Arthur zeroed in on the long neck, the tapered fingers, the trim waist. And realised that what he was feeling was a painful stab of attraction. He'd sleep with this man in a heartbeat. He'd hold those hips in his hands and drive them against his so very willingly he could picture the scene and almost savour the taste. He could see himself pushing this man onto his bed and climb him from behind, pushing till he obtained oblivion.

Certainly that was the kind of consideration you smothered before polite society and that you hardly ever voiced, but Arthur felt it. And had to tamp down on before his interest became apparent. 

Woichiech walked over to the man who'd let Arthur in, kissing his temple while the other tapped away at his typewriter as though he hadn't noticed his friend was there. “See you later, Albert.”

The man nodded sombrely and continued typing away as Woichiech led Arthur out of the flat, closed the door behind him and made way down the stairs. “So how formal is this soirée?” he asked, the accent he produced when speaking English lilting and faintly Welsh.

“Very,” Arthur answered. “It's a dinner given in honour of the Polish delegation.”

“Sounds like the stuff I do for a living,” Woichiech said, “translating for the bigwigs. Germans, English, Poles.”

Negotiating the last step, Arthur said, “You won't be doing any of that tonight.”

“Oh, no, I know,” was Woichiech's reply. “I have to act as buffer so you can have a quiet evening. I understand you're quite the catch.”

Arthur pulled the building's front door open and stepped out into the night. “What has Alice told you?”

Woichiech shrugged as he folded himself into the car Arthur pointed out to him. “Only that you don't like events like this, and that you were quite sought after, so you needed someone to engage you and divert all unwanted attention off you. Possibly be entertaining. Somehow she put it into her head I could be.”

Switching on the headlights, Arthur put the car into motion, chugging down the darkened streets of Warsaw back towards Nowy Swiat, where the embassy building was. “I think she's onto something.”

“Don't get your hopes up,” Woichiech said. “I may be as dull as the people you're avoiding.”

“Nah,” Arthur said. “You already proved there's a spark in you.” He afforded Woichiech a sideways glance, a curt one, but one that was comprehensive enough to allow him to notice that the man's lips were twisted in a smile. “I think it's too early for you to say.”

“We might go to a club afterwards” Arthur began as he drove the car down a larger street, the engine now purring conspicuously. “If you'd like.”

He held his breath, waiting for Woichiech's reply, which came after a few beats: “Albert’s waiting for me probably. I'm sure he'll have finished his article by then.”

“I see,” said Arthur tightly. He was slowing down in time to park kerbside. “I'll make sure you get home reasonably early so you can--” He flailed one hand about. “I promise, Woichiech.”

“You can call me Merlin, you know,” Woichiech said in a complicit tone, one that he seemed to be using to make up for his earlier refusal to stay on and spend the night together – or perhaps for some other reason of Woichiech's own devising. “That's what my mother called me. She preferred it.”

“Is that because I sound so terrible at Polish?” Arthur asked, partly to deflect, partly to get Woichiech to talk.

“Never try to pass off as one,” Woichiech said. “And, no, it's just that... It sounds right. From your lips it sounds right.”

Arthur didn't ask why Merlin's friend hadn't called him Merlin before, rather using a Polish diminutive, but wondered all the same. Was it because Merlin just didn't want Arthur to mispronounce his name all night long? Was it because his friend Albert didn't know the pet name Merlin's mother used? If it was like that why was it so?

Arthur had no time to rack his brains further on the subject because it was time to be social; they'd just walked past Embassy doors.

Arthur and Merlin were led up a carpeted stairway by a man dressed in tails and wearing shoes so shiny they reflected the room's illumination. The private dining room they were ushered into had polished floors you could waltz on and thick white wooden panelling. Chandeliers hung above the table spread, throwing light upon the china service and the silverware. 

A staff officer greeted them. “Happy you could come, Commander,” he said. “And your guest.” He bowed his head. 

Merlin did too and introduced himself.

“Any relation to Prince Balinowski?” the staff officer asked of him.

“Yes,” Merlin said with a tired moue. “He was my father.”

“Oh, yes, I heard that he passed a few years ago.”

Merlin paled. “He did.”

Arthur extricated Merlin from the awkward conversation and led him to the table. Merlin thanked him with a little smile and by resting his hand on his sleeve for a moment. Arthur paused and his breath caught. “You're very welcome,” he said just so he wouldn't say – or possibly do – something stupider.

“Glitzy,” Merlin said, looking around once they'd taken their seats.

“I thought you'd be used to it.”

“I think you know better,” Merlin said, spreading his napkin on his knees as waiters with trays danced around the length of the table. “I think you saw how I live.”

“Maybe the past was different?”

“My life's not what you imagine it to be,” Merlin said. There was no sadness to his tone. Just amused acceptance. “My father was a hard man with a cause. A good man, but...”

“I'm sorry,” Arthur started but Merlin stopped him. “I have nothing to hide.”

Arthur arched an eyebrow. “Not even Albert?”

“I'll tell everybody willing to listen,” Merlin said, studying the dinner guests. “Of course, most of people don't want to. They think they know already.”

Not wanting to be one of those people, Arthur changed the subject. “Are you hungry?”

“Actually, yes. Though I dread the menu. It's sure to be too high end for my palate” 

“I thought you'd have a princely one,” Arthur said.

“Think more like whatever homely food my mother could make,” Merlin said, “and you'd be closer to the truth.” 

Arthur tried to picture Merlin's childhood straddling as it did different worlds, that of titled aristocracy and that of the poor, that of his Polish father and that of his English working class mother. “Here’s the menu,” he said, hoping his thoughts wouldn't transpire.

Merlin grabbed it and gave it a quick read. “As I thought. But I think I'm going to try everything all the same.”

“There’s roast,” he said. “I suppose that's uncontroversial enough.”

“Oh, but maybe a spark of controversy is what we need,” Merlin said, sparking laughter in Arthur he had to cough to cover. 

They passed comments on every item on the menu, Merlin finding some hilarious aspect to every entry or telling him stories that were only obliquely related to food. Arthur participated, but he rather enjoyed listening to Merlin more so he let him take over the conversation as often as he could.

Unfortunately, they couldn't talk exclusively to each other. Countess Sophia engaged Arthur, and one of the embassy wives did the same with Merlin. The rules of the formal dinner exacted their toll.

After the entrées conversation simmered and the roasted beef was brought in by an army of waiters. This was a good diversion, for Arthur was allowed to draw back from the casual conversation he had going with his other dinner neighbour and exchange a few quiet words with Merlin from time to time.

Merlin eased into his role as dinner guest even though he was constantly badgered by Mrs. Bedivere, the wife of a diplomat, who, despite her surface politeness, seemed very focused on prying on Merlin's private life, trying to suss out a nugget of scandal every time she mentioned 'Merlin's writer' friend, Alator the columnist. In answer, Merlin smiled and quoted his 'writer friend' articles at her. Since they were all quite progressive Mrs. Bedivere finally desisted and Merlin started cracking little jokes, some of which made no sense to anybody but him, with Arthur. 

Another round of food arrived and they worked their way through most servings until the pudding was served.

Afterwards they mingled. Arthur discussed armaments with Bayard, his French counterpart, and Merlin got trapped by an older Polish general and a girl Arthur knew from tennis. He seemed to be nodding and smiling cheerfully at everything that was said to him. How it was possible Arthur didn't know since he himself found this kind of chatter boring unless it got him some inside info he could benefit from. Merlin didn't seem a smart society type nor was he a social butterfly, but he was nice and polite to everybody, a kind of perpetual good-humour seemingly buoying him up. He didn't appear to be hating this.

Bayard followed his line of sight, “Ah, I see, you've made friends with Balinowski. He's a good translator. We considered making a spy of him for a while. But he's too close to that journalist, or rather agitator, Alator, for us to consider him. Otherwise we would have.”

“He's too young,” Arthur found himself blurting out.

“Hardly,” said Bayard. “He's in his early twenties. Fit and energetic. No, that wouldn't have been an objection.”

“He's not spy material,” Arthur said. “Look at him. Open and cheerful. He wouldn't be able to keep a secret if his life depended on it.”

Bayard shrugged. “His father dabbled.”

“He's not his father,” Arthur said harshly, garnering an odd look from Bayard.

Merlin was making his way back to him, when Bayard said, “Watch out, Arthur.”

“Why should I?”

“He seems to have made an impression on you,” Bayard said with the nonchalance of the old world at skirting a subject that shouldn't be touched. “That's dangerous.”

“He's quite lovely but that doesn't mean...” Arthur said, but then trailed off when he realised he was lying.

“Just be prudent,” Bayard said, before inviting a lady to take

Arthur dismissed the words as odd and watched Merlin walk over to him, his heartbeat pulsing in his cheeks and jumping in his throat the more Merlin approached. “Free at last,” Arthur said. “I thought they meant to keep you prisoner and deprive me of your lovely company.”

“Thankfully, no,” Merlin said. “I'd have exhausted my reserve of witticisms if that were the case.”

“You seem to have found plenty to talk about, I had an eye on you.”

Merlin chuckled and grabbed a glass from a waiter “I hope you were meaning to rescue me and not indulging in some case-studying.”

“I wasn't,” Arthur said, “but you'd be an highly interesting object of study.”

“The people I was with didn't seem to think that,” Merlin said. “They were mostly talking about themselves.”

Arthur thought that a fitting description of European high society. “Their loss,” Arthur said. 

“Hardly, I'm not that fascinating,” Merlin said. “And I'd rather be ignored and go unnoticed.”

“I object to that,” Arthur said, angling his body closer to Merlin's. “There's something about you, and I'd happily try and find out what it is.” Arthur laced his fingers around Merlin's wrist, chasing around the line of his cuff, skirting down the leather of his watch. The touch thrilled him, made his legs hollow and his stomach feel as though about to float.“If you want to, that offer about joining me at the nightclub is still open.”

Arthur knew Merlin's breath had caught. He knew that he'd inched closer and released an exhalation that had come on the heels of the stuttered pause in his breathing. He was very conscious of that reaction, felt the tension between them spark hot, and couldn't help being disappointed when he heard Merlin say, “I think you know I shouldn't. Can't. I'm...” Merlin held his gaze. “I'm sorry, Arthur.”

Arthur nodded, though he didn't want to be reasonable about that. He wanted to press Merlin, get him to yield and say yes, share this heady night with him. He wished he could drink the tension of it in, sit with Merlin on a roof and gaze at the stars until they were snuffed out in the firmament. And then just before dawn broke they would make love on that roof and taste each other and the frenzy of a night that was the cusp of something magnificent.

But he didn't insist. He was polite enough not to. He escorted Merlin home, driving along silent, snow cushioned roads, that let no sound float by.

“Good night, Arthur.”

“Good night.”

 

**** 

 

Arthur barely slept a wink that night. After he'd driven Merlin home he had watched as he made it back into his building. Once he was sure Merlin was safely home, his job having made him fairly paranoid, he'd turned the car around and headed back to his place. 

Once there he should by all rights have slept.

His day had been long and varied, stressful at times, and the evening hadn't been a quiet one spent at home.

His bed was comfortable and large, sat in the middle of a rather elegant room in the luxurious flat the Embassy had put at his disposal. He had down pillows and enough blankets to ward off even the worst of Poland's rough winter weather. And it wasn't winter either, they were inching towards a full blown Autumn. He had every reason to relax and fall asleep, but he never did.

The notion that he'd have to wake at five was partly responsible. But he didn't wholly kid himself. Thoughts of Merlin did linger. He wondered if he should have acted differently, been more subtle, if a change in tone would have made things different.

He wondered whether Merlin was with Alator physically or not. The gossips evidently thought they were lovers but that meant little. Gossips had attributed plenty of flings to him, and God knew most of them were unfounded. 

Merlin had seemed to like rattling people out of their golden cages so perhaps he'd invited questions or provided answers that had led people to affix the shallowest reading to the facts. Or perhaps it was just as it seemed, and Merlin has something going with Alator.

It didn't matter. Merlin had said no to him and the reason was unimportant, the thoughtful part of him told him. The rest of him, the baser part of him, wished Alator wasn't in the picture. In whichever guise he was there.

At last Arthur caught a wink of sleep between four and five then he kicked off his blankets, raided his wardrobe for suitably unremarkable clothes: an old jumper, trousers he'd bought off a street market, and an old cap that made him look a cross between a farmer and sailor, and set out

Yesterday's edition of the _Ilustrowany Kurier Codzienny_ under his arm, he took the tram trundling its way towards the working class district of Warsaw, his attire ensuring he wouldn't stand out in a crowd. As a matter of fact he was jostled, cursed at, and even asked for directions, but nobody doubted his belonging to this set. 

Some time later, the sun still looking like a washed out little disc barely peeking out from behind the gaps between buildings, Arthur stepped down from the rear end of the tram and made his way down dilapidated streets past a factory before whose doors a milling crowd queued, and past shops that were just now opening. 

He walked the length of the pavement, rounded a couple of corners, crossed the street so he could trudge past a few assorted workshops, clunking sounds coming from their depths, and plunged down a side-street, an obscure bar his objective.

Given the clientele, factory workers peeking in for a drink before their shifts started, the place was already open and crowded with many an employee needing a little something to get him through the long day ahead. 

Arthur found himself a quiet corner, ordered himself a beer, and sat desultorily watching the patrons, making sure not to look too intent. If he did, he would arouse suspicion. Something that would also happen if he played the part of someone who was minding his own business too closely to be credible. In things like this you had to find a happy medium.

Halfway into Arthur's beer, Edwin Magier ducked in. He circumspectly took possession of a table, ordering a drink from a scruffy maid as he was at it. After a brief pause and having allowed the man to settle down, Arthur moved over, taking the seat opposite Magier. “Good morning,” he said in somewhat passable German. 

He'd taken a crash course SIS had required of him before he left for his posting and was now putting his skills to as good a use as he could. 

Magier's gaze flicked up to him then quickly back to his glass. He oozed discomfort. “Herr Grant,” he said, acknowledging Arthur by using the name Arthur went by when he frequented this part of town. 

“Something's wrong with you?” Arthur asked circumspectly, yet fearing the answer. Had Edwin changed his mind about the job? Had he been found out? Was he about to? Was he merely being paranoid about it?

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Edwin said. “This is getting rather too dangerous. The other day I was stopped at passport control at the border with Germany. I had documents with me that were of a rather...” He arched both eyebrows to indicate the nature of the documents in question. “Fortunately they didn't think to check the inside of my coat, but that was a close call of the kind I'd rather avoid in future.”

Arthur knew that a lot hinged on convincing Edwin to not quit on him right now. Besides the incident described was probably a random occurrence. “They do check sample batches from time to time.”

“But if they'd searched me,” Edwin said without finishing the phrase. 

Arthur could imagine what would have happened if they'd searched Mr Magier. Immediate arrest was the first option, a quick disappearance the second. But his job entailed he convince Edwin to stay on and produce more information that would prove vital to British defences should the political tension existing between Germany and the rest of Europe escalate and lead to open war. 

Even Chamberlain had thought the events were bound to “intensify the sense of uncertainty and insecurity in Europe.” Even though the PM had gone for a policy of appeasement that told a lot about the state of things at home, no one was foolish enough to look at Germany's foreign policies without thinking the status quo was about to deteriorate. Worry and fear were a constant in the minds of government officials and the reason why the Home Office was breathing on Arthur's neck, requiring of him little feats of intelligence gathering. “Your activities might save many, many lives. Nothing happened,” Arthur said. “And we need to be rational about this. If you didn't slip up, then they don't know.”

Edwin seemed to calm down hearing Arthur say that. “I was careful,” he said, taking off his spectacles to dab at them with his napkin. “You can't think I wasn't.”

“Good,” Arthur said, knowing Magier wasn't a fool and that he was probably right. “In which case there's nothing to fear.”

“I'd rather that stayed so.”

“It will stay so,” said Arthur, the tiniest nagging of his conscience telling him he should probably let Magier consider retiring. “I thought you didn't like the turn politics have taken in your country.”

“I'm no fan,” Edwin said. “That's for certain. However, I do have self-preservation instincts.”

“Which is what we want,” said Arthur. “Not a suicidal fool likely to get himself killed. You're quite precious to us, Mr Magier.”

“I think I am,” said Edwin, glancing keenly at Arthur's newspaper.

Arthur got the change in drift and asked, “What have you got for me?”

“Tank specifications,” said Edwin, pushing his copy of yesterday's newspaper at him. “I'm not an armaments engineer, but I know enough to discern the tweaks operated on the new machinery.”

Edwin elaborated, acquainting Arthur with the type of changes that had been wrought on German tanks as of late. Arthur guessed what they were for even before Edwin could be finished. “The invasion of Poland.”

“That's not for me to say,” Edwin said, taking a careful sip of his beer. “I'm a civil engineer. Work with tractors mostly, but...”

“I see,” Arthur said, he passed his folded newspaper to Magier, who lifted one of the folds. Seeing the banknotes, a batch of fresh zloty, he nodded slowly.

“Well, I’m not sure I’ll come again,” Magier said. “I realise the frontier debacle was probably coincidence.” He moved his hand. “But I can't rest easy anymore.”

Arthur couldn't help but think of the importance of what was being done here today. If German plans to invade Poland were in action already, then war would be inevitable, perhaps not today but soon. He owed it to his country, to Poland, which was directly threatened, and to people like Edwin, who were doing their level best to oppose a regime they hated, to make sure that Britain didn't march into war ignorant of key strategic truths, thus betraying her own allies. 

“Magier, it's for the general good,” he said, believing that to the core. “If something happens, you have a telephone number you can reach me at.” 

“What would happen if I had to postpone or cancel?” 

“Mr Magier, there's no reason to think you will have to.” Arthur lifted an eyebrow to stress his point. “I'm paranoid enough and even I don't think there was anything to their checking you thoroughly at passport control.”

“What if difficulties arise?”

“If they're serious you know you can contact me.”

Magier tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at Arthur. “A little further incentive would surely help. I have a wife at home. She'd be appreciative of more financial security.”

Arthur nodded. He'd been given free rein in this matter. He extracted an envelope from an inner pocket of his jacket, slipped it among the folds of his newspaper so it rested along with the money he'd previously hidden inside it, and handed it to Edwin. “The article on page 8 is very interesting,” he said. 

Edwin pocketed the folded newspaper quickly, perhaps too much so considering how public this place was, and lifted his glass to his lips. He took an abundant pull, smacked his lips together and rose. “I suppose that I'll see you in a month then.”

Arthur drank to that. “In a month.” 

 

****

 

Two weeks passed and Arthur was made aware of no incidents surrounding Edwin Magier's activities. The Home Office bulletins he read as part of his duties were discomforting, but knowing Magier was still functional and working on gathering intelligence gave him at least some vague hope he was doing something to counteract the storm he felt was coming.

Otherwise nothing much had happened. He was sure that Sichereitsdienst spies were as active as he was and that he was probably being tailed, but that was something that he'd taken into account long before taking on the job and could live with. Since he'd been aware of the possibility he simply refused to let it condition his life.

Having to constantly watch his back wasn't easy but he could deal. He knew he mustn't let his nerves have the better of him. He mainly had to ignore the footsteps echoing after his at night, the eyes he felt pinned to his back when he crossed the street, or the random telephone calls he would get at the oddest hours only for the caller to cut the connection.

Pretending that life was easy and orderly wasn't too difficult either. Intermingled with the cat and mouse game, there were plenty of ordinary moments in his life. He was invited to dinners, cafés, concerts and exhibition openings. These invitations were part and parcel of his official diplomatic role but they also helped make life seem ordinary, a stream of chatter and social events. Acquaintances made on the spur of the moment. Trivialities said to pass the time.

Arthur didn't like these niceties, but he had to admit they helped him pretend. They would have barely been bearable if they didn't. 

One evening in late November the Foreign Office gave a cocktail party Arthur couldn't say no to because the Ambassador was going to attend and most of the bigwigs had organised it. 

The invitations sent out had reached the hundreds in number and a good section of Warsaw's diplomatic corps had been invited. Arthur was surprised to find one must have reached Merlin, for he bypassed the salon's doors just as Arthur turned around to hail a waiter. 

Arthur's eyes didn't leave him as he advanced into the room. He was wearing an evening coat like that night a month ago at the formal dinner, but the jacket was definitely the wrong size – made for a larger man – and probably a hand-me-down.

Despite that, Merlin moved with a certain assurance. He was still as long and gangly as Arthur remembered, still a slightly maladroit young man, but he carried himself like someone who wasn't ashamed of himself even if he lacked the financial means to shine.

Arthur let his restless gaze travel down Merlin's body, taking in his straight nose and his fat upper lip, the curve of his neck as he bent it to examine the cocktail spread, and the shape of his wrist as he extended his arm to lift a glass by the stem 

His heart swelled to look at him. He experienced a momentary fantasy: walking up to Merlin, convincing him to go, the party be damned, and follow him home, to his bedroom, where he would slowly undress Merlin, starting by taking off his watch, kissing his wrist, freeing him of jacket and shirt so he could explore his body, hold it in his arms, cradle it with his.

His imagination was so vivid he could feel desire heightening his colour, working on his heartbeat, making him as dizzy as if he'd climbed to a great altitude and was breathing in rarefied air. 

He even subconsciously brought a hand to his chest as if to stem his heart's doings before realising that was an odd gesture and stopping. A kind of elation warmed him from the inside out, but even so, a veneer of cynicism made him look for Albert Alator.

Only when he didn't see him did Arthur relax, his shoulders sagging, a smile appearing on his face without his having an actual say in the matter.

Lady Monmouth, the Ambassador's own wife, turned partly away from a friend of hers, an older lady wearing as much jewellery as the laws of fashion would allow, and with as little subtlety as possible, directed a sharp glance at him. 

“Commander, don't you find this party a complete success?”

Gaze still latched onto Merlin, Arthur answered, “Yes, brilliant entertainment, my lady.”

“Lady Mallory hired a chamber orchestra for later,” Lady Monmouth continued. “Personally I adore brass orchestras, what do you think of them?”

Arthur liked old folk tunes that reminded him of his mother. She used to sing them to him. One of the few things he truly remembered about her was her singing ditties as she led him round the park at Camelot, his chubby hand in hers. But that was too private a recollection to share. “Yes, they're fine. Orchestras. Brass.”

“Commander, are you well?” Lady Monmouth scrunched her nose up at him. “You look distracted.”

Arthur smoothed his uniform jacket. “I'm fine, Lady Monmouth. If you'll excuse me.”

He crossed the room quickly, his step firm, bypassing guests that stood in his way, to go and join Merlin by a canapés display. “Fancy seeing you here of all places, Merlin.”

Merlin's eyes snapped to his. For a moment Arthur feared to read a lack of recognition in them, but they brightened at him. “Someone I translated for the other day extended an invitation and I thought why not.”

Arthur smiled. “I'm glad you've come.”

“Earlier today I thought I wouldn't,” Merlin said, picking up a little caviar canapé, “Albert wasn't coming, had an interview, and let's be quite honest, this is not quite my scene.”

Arthur frowned at the refreshments so as not to do so at Merlin. “I see.”

“Arthur--” Merlin said, in a tone so tentative it was clear he feared he'd said the wrong thing. 

Arthur couldn't let that stand. “I'm still glad I could see you.”

“You're so nice to me, and I can't get why.”

His eyes wandering less than assuredly upwards to meet Merlin's, he said. “It's difficult not to be.”

“Arthur, you don't have to try and sound....” Merlin gestured, canapé still in hand. He rolled his eyes, put it in his mouth and downed it quickly. “I'm glad you're nice to me, but--”

“No buts,” Arthur said, resting a hand at the small of Merlin's back. “Let's go take a look at the bar. It's a cocktail party for a reason.”

“You seemed busy,” Merlin observed. “Before. I'm sure you've got more important things to do than entertaining me.”

“It's not an official reception,” Arthur said. “I have to be here, but what I do while I am is nobody's business. Now that that's cleared up, will you have a drink with me?”

Merlin shook his head but his lips twisted in a reluctant smile. “All right. As long as you don't get me drunk.”

“I thought there was wisdom to be sought in drunkenness.”

“That's only valid for artists and poets.”

They crossed over to the bar.

“So what would you like to have?” 

“Let's stay simple,” Merlin said. “A vodka.”

“Two vodkas, please,” Arthur told the barman. The latter complied and slid two glasses down the counter. Arthur handed one to Merlin then picked up his. He took a perfunctory sip and fixed his eyes on Merlin. “A hardy drink.”

“It's getting cold enough,” Merlin said, tipping his head towards the big window that arched over at the end of the salon. They could hear the wind and rain even over the buzz of voices filling the salon and over the light chamber music the orchestra had started playing. “A bracing drink is what's needed.”

“I thought you'd be used to the cold,” Arthur said. “Having always lived here.”

Merlin took a shy sip of his Vodka, Adam's apple plunging around his shirt's collar. “Nah, I still feel the cold.”

“Must be your frame,” Arthur said, raking his eyes over Merlin and not hiding it in the least.

Merlin reddened but didn't duck his head. “I was raised here but I did spend a few winters in Wales. With my mother. When my parents' marriage got rocky. Perhaps I got used to relatively milder winters as a kid.”

Arthur was touched by what Merlin was sharing with him, this little fact he didn't have to make known. “I spent my early childhood in Cornwall, largely. My father has an estate there. My mother used to take me when my father was too busy in London.”

Merlin opened his mouth to speak, seemed to think better of it, and downed a mouthful of vodka.

“You can ask me,” Arthur said.

“You said early childhood,” Merlin began, encouraged. “What happened later?”

“My mother died.” Arthur gulped down the rest of his drink. “I was entrusted to governesses and tutors.”

“I'm so sorry,” said Merlin. “I shouldn't have asked. I know what that means. Losing your parents. I'm--”

“I wanted you to ask.”

Merlin frowned at him. “I don't get why,” he said, fiddling with his glass, a finger contouring the rim. “It must be painful.”

“You know why.”

Merlin huffed a laugh. “I'm starting to think I do, but then again that seems rather absurd.”

“You know it isn't.”

“Because I'm not in the position to,” Merlin said. His lips were wet with vodka. His fingers closed around the glass he wasn't bringing to his mouth. “Arthur, I like you, I do. But that's all I can do.”

Arthur sighed. He felt the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose but he didn't do that. He didn't want to come across as angry. He wasn't. He was feeling lots of things but anger at being spurned was not one of them. “It's all right. I can wait.”

“I can't ask you to,” Merlin said, looking as though it pained him to say it. His eyes were boring into Arthur's and his shoulders were rising as if he was about to let out an exhale. 

“You didn't ask,” Arthur said. “It's on me.” Arthur saw that Merlin was bristling, hunching in on himself. “But let's agree on being friends for now.”

Merlin's mouth creased into a smile and he bobbed his head. “I can do that. We can get to know each other.”

“So I can ask you questions?” Arthur asked. He still thought Merlin a mystery and he believed getting to know him better would help them achieve more closeness. 

“Yes,” Merlin said, over the roll of thunder, “and I promise to answer them.”

Arthur saw Merlin tense, his shoulders going so straight maintaining that pose must have been hard. So Arthur smiled and said, “What's your favourite colour?”

Merlin laughed, went back to his usual slouchy posture and answered. 

They traded questions and answers for a while, Merlin skirting the subject of Arthur's job as if he'd guessed. Arthur avoided answering, not so much because he thought Merlin would betray him, but because this was a game he was used to playing. As the evening progressed, they were interrupted by other guests, and spent some time apart as well, only to drift back one towards the other at around midnight. Their conversation was less private then, seeing as they were surrounded by other people, but Merlin aimed smiles and touches at him that told Arthur that he hadn't forgotten about Arthur's plea to become friends.

Some time after the brass orchestra started playing some American songs Merlin knew the words to, thunder took to rolling in the sky, drowning out the instruments. Merlin once again cast a glance at the balcony window, through which you could see the trees lining the boulevard shaking and soughing, and said, “That's an honest to god storm. I'd better get going or I'll never make it home.”

“Don't fancy an all-nighter at the embassy?”

Merlin laughed into his fist. “As lovely as I find the décor, I'd rather sleep in my own bed.”

“Let me walk you.”

Merlin placed a hand on his forearm. “You realise I was born in this city? I can make my way home better than you.”

Arthur could plead he'd just meant to be polite but he couldn't see the sense in lying. “I just want to talk some more. Walking's as good an excuse as anything.”

Merlin bowed his head, but he agreed. “All right. Just let me get my coat back. I'm sure I'll need it.”

Ten minutes later, they both got their coats, said good night to the hosts and left. Once on the pavement, which was blasted by a glacial wind that held a hint of snow in it, they chose to look for a taxi. As it turned out, most people out and about at this juncture must have thought getting a cab a good idea too, for there was none available. More, scarcely a soul was to be seen plodding down the streets. “It's late enough,” Merlin commented and Arthur grunted agreement. 

“I can understand if you want to duck back in,” Merlin said. “You could probably get a lift from someone at some point.”

“I'd have to wait hours,” Arthur said, craning his head at the embassy building behind him. “Most of those people aren't going to make it back home till the small hours.”

“Still, you don't have to walk back to the Old Town with me,” Merlin insisted. “It's truly horrid weather this.”

“My English bones can survive your Polish winter weather, no worries.” Arthur splayed a hand across Merlin's back, pushing him forward. “Which is the fastest way to yours?” 

Merlin pointed his thumb backwards and said, “It's far from here but I do know a short cut.” Merlin pulled up his coat's collar. “It's still fairly distant, but it should save us some walking.”

“Lead on,” Arthur said. He imitated Merlin and drew the collar of his own coat up and closer to his neck. When he was more prepared to face the weather, they set off, heading down the road Merlin had indicated, cutting across a park and taking a side road Arthur had never explored before. 

The weather conditions, meanwhile, got steadily worse. A few more minutes, and they were walking against a howling wind. The dust and debris picked up by it were hurled at their faces. They made their trek a hard one. 

At first they marched on, keeping pace with each other, but then they found themselves walking hunched over, eyes slit against the hail and rain whipping their faces, Merlin steadily clomping forwards, Arthur, hindered, lagging behind.

“I don't think this is a good idea!” Arthur said. 

Merlin tried to nod though he only managed to hide his chin in his collar. “This is worse than I could have imagined back at the embassy.”

Arthur could only grunt his agreement. It seemed he hadn't lived in Warsaw long enough to predict the turns in its climate, but then again Merlin had been mostly raised here, and he too hadn't imagined it would get to this. 

Arthur started searching for an open bar or café but it was late enough for most businesses to have closed down for the night.

“How much further?” Arthur asked. He'd lost all sense of direction. Partly because he didn't know the short-cut Merlin had used and partly because the pelting rain made it hard for him to distinguish shapes or make out road signs.

“Some way to go still,” Merlin shouted over the wind. His nose was acquiring a worrying tinge and his fingers, visible where he was gripping the lapels of his coat to keep it folded closed, swollen and red. “If the weather wasn't like this we'd make it in half an hour. Forty minutes tops.”

“We're not making it like this.”

“We could go back to the Embassy.”

People would still be about there, fashionable stragglers partying till almost morning. Arthur was the Naval attaché so he wouldn't be turned out if he made it back after having left. But there were objections. “We're scarcely presentable.”

Lightning struck far across the horizon. “I don't give a rat's arse what they think right now. I can't feel my fingers.”

“I have a better proposal,” Arthur said, ducking under an awning and dragging Merlin under cover with him. “We can't be that far from the Embassy.”

“That's what I was telling you.” Merlin was shivering now. Merlin was so close that Arthur felt him shaking. He cocked his head at him and saw frost bedewing Merlin's lashes. “We can—”

“No,” Arthur said. “I meant my flat is a stone's throw away from the Embassy.”

“You...”

“It's the closest form of shelter and you can't get home like this anyway.”

They both knew what the obstacle was and Arthur was fully expecting Merlin to turn him down when he heard him say. “All right. I'll spend the night at yours.”

 

*****

 

Brushing snowflakes off their shoulders, they pushed into Arthur's flat. 

“Cosy,” said Merlin, looking around. “More than actually.”

Arthur hung his coat on a hook, then gestured for Merlin to give him his. Merlin rubbed his hands together to warm them and then finally shed his own. He passed it on to Arthur and Arthur placed it next to his. “It belongs to the Embassy,” Arthur said, then noticed that Merlin was still shifting his weight, looking entrenched in the hallway. “You can make yourself comfortable. I'll make some coffee or cocoa.”

“Thank you,” Merlin said, before crossing the hall and half the living room to settle on the sofa. 

Arthur stood watching for a moment or two, liking the idea of having Merlin there. It was a crazy idea, with his job taken into account, but the thought stayed with him. Before it could take on larger proportions, he made it to the kitchen.

With Merlin back in the living room, Arthur had a few moments alone to settle down into rational thinking. He opened cupboards and found to his pleasure that he actually had all the ingredients for a nice cup of cocoa. He put water to boil and took out the rum. He wanted to give the chocolate a kick. 

Despite not being good in the kitchen – having joined the Navy quite young he'd never needed to acquire that set of skills – he managed to get the chocolate ready and on a tray quite fast. He took it back to the living room and put it on the coffee table.

Merlin leant over and grabbed a cup with a smile.

“Watch out, you eager thing,” Arthur said. “It's hot.”

“Too impatient for the good things,” Merlin said.

Arthur sat next to Merlin, not taking his cup so the contents would cool. “I can see that.” 

Merlin had in fact just scalded the tip of tongue. “And apparently you're one of those people who can bide their time.”

Arthur fastened his eyes on Merlin, his arm going over the back of the sofa. “No, not truly. I try to. But I want things just as much as the next person.”

Merlin stopped sipping at his cocoa. “Arthur--”

“Are you with him?” Arthur asked. “I'm not-- I'm not making a move. I just want to know instead of keeping guessing.”

Merlin put the cup on the coffee table. “What do you want me to say?”

Arthur looked at his finger nails. They were still a little purple from the cold outside though his fingers had regained their normal colour. “The truth.”

“I could ask you the same,” Merlin said. “People have told me things about you.”

“People meaning Alator.” It made sense. The man was a journalist; he probably had contacts and Arthur wasn't exactly a nobody in the world of diplomacy. It wouldn't have taken much too guess.

Merlin shrugged. “See, same thing.”

“I'm an attaché, Merlin,” Arthur said. “With all that entails, especially these days. So, yes, whoever told you about me was right.”

“That's a big thing to admit to,” Merlin said. “My secret's probably not as big, though my past would be frowned upon in some quarters.”

Arthur put his elbows on his thigh; his face in his hands. “Mmm.”

“I don't know how to define it, but I want to be honest about this.”

“You don't need to,” Arthur said, his hands shielding his face covering the sound. “Truly.”

Merlin's voice was low and steady as he explained. “I was young and he's... He's a fighter. He uses words to fight the fight, but he's a fighter. He believes in what he does. And that's telling the truth, upholding it.”

Arthur scrubbed a hand down his face. “It sounds like you fell in love.”

Merlin didn't answer that. “He's a good man, the better because he's made so many mistakes.”

Arthur gave a half smile. “You're good at evading. You should do what I do.”

“That's because this is hard,” Merlin said. “Ask me questions.”

“Are you with him sexually?”

While Arthur was staring straight on Merlin shifted sideways so he couldn't not look at Arthur as he spoke. “I'm not a saint. I was. For a long time I was.”

Arthur's fingers curled inwards. “All right. I-- What can I say...” The news did take the wind out of his sails, like a punch to the heart. One that he needed to rationalise, if he wanted a shot at Merlin. “ I'm not a saint either.”

“I didn't think you were.”

Arthur turned his head towards Merlin. “You said, 'I was'. What changed?”

“He did.” Merlin's smile faltered. “No, don't make that face. Not like that. He started believing he wasn't enough for me – the age difference and all that – and I told him and I told him, but he got distant, and then it stopped happening. The sex... most physical contact. Everything, that made me feel... loved, you know.”

“He's a fool,” Arthur said, something sparking deep inside him. Maybe it was hope.

“No.” Merlin shook his head. “He had hang ups. Who wouldn't have them in his place? He's... He tried to be fair to me.”

“Denying you,” Arthur said, biting on his lower lip till he couldn't feel it anymore. “That's not what I call fair.”

“He thought he was giving me a chance to get with someone my age,” Merlin said, burying his nose in a cup he wasn't sipping from. “Someone more suitable to me. He said I would see. I swore it wouldn't be like that. But we still ended in this twilight zone of friendship that had once been more.” Merlin paused, lines crowding his forehead. “I'm making all his assumptions about me true, aren't I? I told him about you and he basically...”

“What?”

“Told me to do it,” Merlin said. “I just told him you were nice and not at all as I'd thought you'd be, an embassy toff, and he said maybe I should...” Merlin reddened and that told Arthur what Alator had told Merlin he should do. “He guessed right about me. See, I proved him right in the end. That I'd want someone thatt wasn't him one day, someoen younger. Because it's true that I want you.”

Arthur felt the surge of adrenalin that went with that statement. His heart took to his throat, having pounded its way upwards into his chest, and he could almost feel the blood pulsing drum-like at his fingertips. 

Merlin looked at him with eyes that spoke about that want and Arthur just acted without a thought. He grabbed Merlin's face and pulled it to his and kissed him with some roughness. His lips were desperate, wet as they moved across Merlin's, searching for some kind of return. When it came, when Merlin grabbed him by the waist and curled his fingers above his belt, when he opened his mouth to suck Arthur's tongue into his, Arthur got even more frantic.

He slid his hands up Merlin's chest, moaned into him, pinned Merlin's tongue down with his then stroked it, searched his mouth with his tongue.

Breathing fast through his nose, Merlin clutched him tight, fingers twisting Arthur's shirt into a mess of bunched up material.

His mouth still covering Merlin's in a messy exchange, Arthur swept a hand down Merlin's side to his thigh, pulling Merlin to him so he'd slide down the sofa and Arthur could climb on top of him, his cock forming a visible ridge in his trousers. 

Then the phone rang.

Arthur panted in Merlin's ear, his chest rising and falling quickly against his.

“Answer,” Merlin told him. “I can't anyway. Still feel like I'm doing something wrong.... And it might be important.”

Arthur caught sight of the misty film in Merlin's eyes and saw how he pushed his lips together. 

Sighing, he brushed his lips against Merlin's forehead, breathed out, and went to answer the phone, his cock still hard between his legs. 

“Herr Grant,” a voice Arthur recognised as Magier said. “I'm in trouble.”

A click. “Where are you?” Arthur asked, his grip on the receiver tightening. 

A second click. “Phone booth near Krasinski Garden.”

“Stay there,” said Arthur. “I'll get you.”

He put down the receiver and stalked into the hall to get his coat. 

“Arthur,” Merlin said, his shirt askew, his hair in the same condition, his tooth worrying his lower lip. “Should I worry?”

“No.” Arthur buttoned up his coat. “Leave some ten minutes after me. Just close the door.”

“I don't believe you. Something has happened.” Merlin balled his fists. “Let me come.”

Arthur made sure his keys were still in his coat's pocket. “No. Not to be discussed.” He paused, let out a breath, and said, “Merlin, go back to Alator.”

 

**** 

The weather hadn't improved and even driving up to Krasinsky Park was hard. The windscreen-wipers wouldn't work quickly enough to clear the mirror, and steering was a feat since he didn't know where he was going.

Yet he managed to reach the area adjacent the meeting point. He'd come this far, now he'd have to hide the car and walk the distance to the phone booth.

He thrust his collar up and closed the car. With his head ducked against the chill and snow, he made his way towards the phone booth. It was the only one close enough to the park. It had to be the one Magier had meant.

As soon as Arthur approached it, he could tell there was no one inside.

Still he opened the door to see if he could find any hints of Magier's whereabouts.

There was none that he could see so he turned around and tried the park. Officially, it was closed, but getting in wasn't difficult at all. All he had to do was climb over the less than knee-high metal fence that separated the park grounds from the pavement.

Hands going to the small of his back where he'd concealed his gun, he searched the area. There was no trace of Magier anyway. Not by the benches, not by the bandstand and not along any of the variety of paths Arthur was combing.

A myriad thoughts hit him. Magier had been taken by Sichereitdienst spies. He'd turned coat and he'd lured Arthur into a trap. It wasn't a trap, but Magier was already dead and buried somewhere around here.

His thoughts were churning furiously in this fashion, when Arthur spotted a figure down one of the most secluded tracks the park had to offer. Arthur flicked off the safety of his gun and called out. “Magier?”

The man turned and in the moonlight Arthur spotted the pale colour of his hair. It was indeed Magier. Arthur's shoulders sagged in relief, but he didn't put back the gun. Too early yet to give himself an all clear. After having checked the area for threats, he crossed over to Magier. “What happened? Why the dead of night call?”

“I need you to help me defect,” said Edwin. 

“Why?” Arthur asked again, sure Edwin was omitting something. “You need to make me understand what went down to make you want that.”

“They've found me out,” Magier said in a whisper that was nearly drowned by the wind. 

“Have you proof positive?” Arthur asked, adrenaline whipping at him like a firey lash. If they'd been found out, there was a chance the Sichereitdienst would alert the military. The Germans were canny enough to change their plans following a suspected leak. SIS would be back at square one, unaware of the plans Germany was making to likely invade Poland.

“Yes,” said Magier. “I made a mistake. I took some documents, nothing big, but they weren't supposed to leave the site.” He passed the documents to Arthur. “The worst is that I'd just got selected to witness a weapons demonstration. I would have had more access if I could've gone. Specifics are in the report--”

Magier had never been that precise. Perhaps he'd been too precise this time. He was trying to buy an in, get more money, and that had been his downfall. “Edwin, you're not a British national. Helping you defect won't be as easy as you think.”

“You said you'd be there for me,” Magier had said. “All I need is a new passport.”

“I'll try.” Magier might have made a mistake, but he did have a right to Arthur's help. It was the only honourable thing Arthur could do. Getting Magier a British passport wouldn't be easy and anger Arthur's superiors, but he owed the man his assistance. “I'll do what I can but I need some time.”

“You'd bett--”

The shot was sudden and drowned by the sound of the howling wind. Arthur wouldn't have realised one had been fired at all, if Edwin hadn't been propelled forwards. He slumped in Arthur's arms, a dark stain spreading across his back. 

Arthur went to his knees, a finger's to Edwin's pulse point. There was none. With nothing he could do for Edwin, Arthur shot to his feet and followed in the direction of the richochet. He saw shapes; someone running in the opposite direction.

Arthur chased after, legs pumping, arms propelling him forwards. The distance between him and Magier's assassin was shortening and he had almost caught up with him when another shot sounded and Arthur was compelled to dive into a bush. There were two. Two attackers.

He held his head down till footsteps echoed again. Gun out, he sped down one of the paths to find it empty. He squinted against the rain and saw that he'd come close to the park's edge. The assassins he'd been pursuing must have already managed to pour into the street.

Arthur could theoretically stubbornly continue to give chase, but he had to deal with the fact that he had most probably lost them.

Still, he took the end of the path at a run, gun firmly in both hands. He made it in time to see a Renault Celtaquatre pull off the kerb to a screech of tyres.

Aiming, Arthur fired at the wheels, but visibility was low, the target a moving one, and he missed. “Damn,” he said. “Damn.”

Arthur spent the rest of the night disposing of Edwin's corpse, burying it so he'd get as decent a send-off as possible and so that the story involving his death wouldn't surface. While the Polish authorities viewed the British with a friendly eye, as allies, Arthur didn't have carte blanche. Nor was he keen to explain to a policeman why there was a corpse in a public park. He'd be arrested and then have to refer to higher authorities to extricate himself.

That would make noise. He'd end up mentioned in newspapers and there would his anonymity go. Everybody with a brain would guess what he was really doing in Warsaw. 

By dawn he was covered in dirt, freezing to the bone, and done. Even though he longed for a long hot shower, he decided to bypass a trip home and go to the Embassy. He spent the morning drawing up a report, questioning his own actions and guilt regarding Edwin, and waiting to be interviewed about his report. Since his superiors kept on ignoring him, Arthur went to lunch without having been called in.

At around three in the afternoon his direct superior, Mr. du Bois, asked him in.

“So,” he said, hands locked together. “You lost your contact.”

“I didn't lose him,” Arthur said. “They killed him.”

“Amounts to the same thing,” said Mr. du Bois. “Now he's dead and no use. Well, his death at least confirms there was something to what he's dug up.”

Arthur leant forward in his chair. “Of course there is. The changes made to the tanks. The kind of planning they entail clearly points to their intentions. An invasion of Poland. Perhaps France if France upholds her alliance to Poland.”

Mr. du Bois held a hand up. “The PM's appeasement policy is working at the moment and cannot be endangered.”

Arthur scoffed. He didn't believe that. That was not what he was seeing. “That's debatable considering what's going on. Austria was annexed. So was the Sudetenland. Poland's surely the next. And it's not as if Germans don't have grand re-armament plans.”

“Which are a boost to their economy and may stay that,” du Bois said, lifting an admonishing fingers. “No need to get unduly alarmed.”

Arthur stood, nearly upsetting his chair. “Sir--”

Mr. du Bois looked at him from head to foot, shaking his head. He gave a small smile and placed his hand on his stomach as if Arthur was giving him an ulcer. His voice was edged with something that was a cross between pity and contempt. “Pendragon, you're still young and relatively new at this. You're obviously excited about something you perceive as a big coup of yours. Let me assure you, it isn't. Years from now you'll be gathering the same kind of intelligence; it will seem to you as though it points to something yet scarcely anything will happen.”

Arthur breathed through his nose then calmly pointed out. “Yet you fought in the Great War.”

“Indeed,” du Bois said. “And that war ended all wars. I do believe that to be true. Sometimes though I'll grant you that things lead to other things. So in the way of being overly prudent, I'll ask you not to abandon the trail.”

“You want me to go under cover in Germany?” Arthur asked. He'd have to plan ahead, but he could do it. He could take Magier's place, pass for him, and get a look at those tanks himself. He'd just have to pretend he was an interested engineer offering to contribute changes to engine design or some such. If he was briefed by an expert, he could do it.

“No,” said du Bois. “Not you. You wouldn't pass for German, and your German being weak, you wouldn't be sure to understand the nuances of everything that you hear. With Magier gone the plan will have to be modified. We just need somebody to eavesdrop on the presentation.”

“We can't find another mole in so short a time.” Arthur knew that finding turncoats wasn't easy. The risks were big and there weren't all that many people willing to run them. After Magier, poor sod, chancing on someone willing would be even harder.

“Then not a mole.” Du Bois left his position behind the chair to go have a look at the window. He pulled the curtain back and took to gazing at the boulevard. “A paid spy. Someone to do the job for us. I'm sure you'll find us someone.”

Arthur wanted to but at such short notice the feat seemed nearly impossible. “I'll try the files of all our agents.”

“Do,” said du Bois. “If not, find a Pole willing to do it. Lots of them lived under the Kaiser's rule before the war and didn't like it. The current German government is much less palatable. I'm sure there must be someone willing to improvise turning into a spy if the right sum of money changed hands.”

“I'll do my very best, sir.”

“Perfect, perfect,” said du Bois, letting the curtain fall back into place. He turned around and slipped his hands in his trouser's pockets. “You're dismissed.”

Though he was brimming with questions and shaking with both guilt and anger, Arthur saluted and left like the good soldier he was.

 

**** 

After grabbing a quick bite at a café that still served lunch in the afternoon, Arthur made it back to his place. He just needed a hot bath and to sleep. A few hours of blessed sleep would put him back together, would stop him thinking about what he could have done better – or to save Magier – and make of him a rational man again. He wished for nothing more.

He was scarcely halfway up the second floor, when he heard a noise coming from his landing.

After the night he'd had his first thought went to German spies rather than noisy neighbours, therefore he once again made for the gun that he carried at his waist. As he had the night before. he made sure the safety was off before climbing the rest of the way up. 

Pistol in hand, he trained it at the blurry shape he saw the moment he whirled into the landing. His breath caught when he saw that the shape he'd caught a glimpse of was that of a man sitting on his doormat, his head in his hands, his shoulders hunched in as if they were carrying a heavy burden. The man slumping at his door was Merlin.

Arthur clicked his gun's safety back on and stashed the weapon into his belt. “Merlin,” he said past the big, big lump in his throat Merlin's presence had evoked.

Merlin's head shot up, hands falling to his sides. When his gaze landed on Arthur his eyes widened, getting mistier by the second. “Arthur,” he said, launching himself at him. 

Before he could blink Merlin had one arm around him, the other clawing at his clothing, and his nose buried in Arthur's neck. “After that call I thought you were... That something would happen to you.”

Arthur's heart went to mush. He pulled Merlin close and said, “I'm fine. I'm fine.”

“Al night long I couldn't think about anything other than that phone call and what you'd said,” Merlin revealed in one big breath that tickled Arthur's jaw. “I was so sure that the worst had happened and I panicked. Because I could have been there for you and I wasn't.”

“I wanted you safe and very much not there,” Arthur said, revealing more than he should probably have, basically telling Merlin that something dangerous and untoward had happened. But then again Merlin had guessed by himself and they were just both acknowledging that fact. 

Merlin nodded his head, then shook it, his nose tipped so that it was brushing against Arthur's skin. “I told Alator that he was right.”

Arthur hissed in a breath, his grip on Merlin getting tighter. “Merlin--”

“I could have kept living under the same roof as him, as friends, the way we have all this time,” Merlin said. “But it wasn't right. It wasn't fair to you. And I can't do anything that's not fair to you, when you're all I think about.”

The kiss that Merlin put to his neck was a surprise. “Merlin--”

Another kiss came, placed a little higher up. 

“Not here,” Arthur said. 

Resisting was hard but there were things he had to hide and this was one of them. After all he didn't know who might be there, who might be taking note, and if someone was, he was endangering Merlin. They'd think Merlin was close to him, that he was blackmail material. Or they'd think Merlin knew secrets. These days a spy would stoop very low to get at secrets they thought someone was withholding. The last thing Arthur wanted was for Merlin to stop touching him, but he had to ask just for that. “Merlin, come on.”

Merlin's hand pressed at his side, but then he let go. “Alright.”

“We're going to, you know,” Arthur said, fishing his keys out of his pockets and opening the door. “Have everything. Take everything.”

After Merlin had entered, Arthur closed the door behind him, turning the key in the lock and leaving it there.

“Even if it's just this,” Merlin said. “And you're angry or it was too late...”

Arthur put both hands on Merlin's shoulders, feeling his bones, the solidity of him. “Not too late.” 

The kiss was a mutual decision, both of them leaning in at the same time. Their mouths opened; their tongues touched. And that was it. All control was wrenched from Arthur and it must have been the same for Merlin because they were now pawing at each other's clothing, pulling and tugging, wrestling.

Hands grasped and released; fabric was crumpled. Their breaths came in gasps as they kissed hungrily, dirtily, their teeth clashing.

Merlin chased Arthur's jacket off his shoulders and yanked his shirt out of his trousers. Arthur panted in his mouth, then said, “Wait.” He drew the gun from his waistband and left it on top of the drawer hall cupboard. 

“And here I thought you were just happy to see him,” Merlin said, reeling him back in. His frenzied hands undid the buttons of Arthur's shirt, his palms raking down his chest, making Arthur feel giddy. His heart quaked in his chest. A strong powerful emotion overtook him, and he became sure, as he'd rarely been in his life, that this was the place to be, the thing to do. 

He'd known he wanted Merlin, but he hadn't known what actually having him would do to him.

Merlin slid his hands down his chest to his hips and undid his belt, his trousers. Now open, they settled lower and Merlin was able to hook his thumbs in the waistband of Arthur's underwear to pull it down. “Merlin,” Arthur choked. “Merlin, I--”

Merlin closed his hand around him, his palm a little damp. Arthur leant his forehead against Merlin's just as Merlin twisted his hand around him. A sob left him, breath misting across Merlin's lips as Arthur attempted to catch them again, but Merlin didn't let him. 

Planting damp, fevered, haphazard kisses all over his jaw, Merlin pumped him up and down, rubbed the tip of his prick with his thumb, getting him wet with precome.

Arthur's shoulders shook, the tremor chasing down to his toes. He tipped his head forwards, lips brushing Merlin's shoulder through cloth.

“Oh--” he said and followed that with another similar sound. He wanted to find Merlin's lips; he wanted to thrust his hips against the palm of Merlin's warm hands. He wanted to enfold Merlin in his arms, breathe his skin, and mouth his cock. He was awash with all sorts of desires.

Spasms shot off from his balls and his cock and he spilled, a guttural groan of completion telling the tale of his orgasm.

A wave of dizziness came over Arthur, a little bit like drowsiness, a little bit like weakness. And yet he nuzzled Merlin's face, wrapped both arms around him so they met at the small of his back, holding him close as if he could keep him forever. “Tell me what you want,” he said between the kisses he bestowed on Merlin's temple, on Merlin's ear.

Merlin didn't share that with him. “It's been a while.”

“All right.”

“I haven't--”

“It's all right,” Arthur said. “You told me about your situation with Alator, how it was a long time ago that you--” He rethought finishing that sentenced when Merlin tensed in his arms. Perhaps other lovers secrets weren't his to ask about, especially since they belonged to past days. “Please, let me make you come.”

“I want that. I want it to be you that makes me.”

They shared a kiss that was all a press of tongues, a moment of comfort, agreement perhaps. Then Arthur sat Merlin on his sofa, knelt at his feet and pulled off his shoes. One by one, slow. Then his socks.

Merlin opened his trousers locking eyes with Arthur.

In his turn, Arthur ran his palms up Merlin's thighs, kneading, getting the feel of him, a knowledge of him that could only be imparted via touch and that would always be his.

Arching his hips off his seat, Merlin pulled his trousers lower. Arthur eased the fabric away from his groin and uncovered his cock. It stretched fat and red against Merlin's belly. 

“Will you let me?” Arthur asked.

Merlin's voice came out as a croak and his words were not distinguishable. He nodded though so Arthur had his go ahead.

He started with a detour and by pressing his lips to Merlin's thigh before looking up at him and deliberately closing his lips around his cock. Merlin's eyes went wide and his body almost rose with it, his hips scrambling off the upholstery, his chest filling. A tiny moan escaped his lips.

Arthur sucked and licked; alternating between the two at first, thrusting his tongue at the slit before suckling again. But when Merlin started reacting, going all red in the face, his breath hitching in staccato pants, Arthur changed tactics. He hollowed his cheeks and pulled hard until Merlin's body locked and he sighed, orgasm spilling out of him in fat drops that tasted bitter. Arthur lapped at him and held him in his mouth until Merlin was soft. Even when he was Arthur cleaned him up with his tongue, not quite wanting to let go, the intimacy – the taste of Merlin's come, the smell of Merlin deep in his nostrils, the texture of his prick – was something he didn't want to let go of.

He had to obviously. Merlin shifted under him, cupped himself and hissed. Before backing off, Arthur ran his mouth along Merlin's belly and hips, nuzzling at the curve of bone and shift of muscles.

No sooner had he finished than Arthur already wanted to start again. Even though he felt languid his desire hadn't simmered. It wasn't physical, he wagered. Couldn't be. It was mental, a measure of want and need lodged deep in his brain. 

“Hey,” he said, leaning up to cup Merlin's cheek. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Merlin chewed on his lower lip. “I'm good. I'm fine.”

“Not having second thoughts?” Arthur asked. 

Merlin shook his head. “No. No second thoughts. Life's too short.”

Arthur wanted that, to have some time with Merlin, something that belonged to them, no regrets. “Would you like something to eat? To have a bath? I don't know I--”

“Be yourself if you can,” Merlin said. “You know, your normal self, as you'd be without... all the action, and me, and all the stuff that worries you. I think I like that real you..”

Arthur smiled. “All right,” Arthur said, keeping a titbit to himself, namely that he firmly believed Merlin was a part of him, embedded deep in his muscle memory and his bones. That's good. That's as good a starting point as any.”

Merlin put himself back together, slipping his cock back into his underwear. “Maybe I do need a bath,” he said. “Even a quick shower.”

“I want you to feel at home.” Arthur had never exactly considered his Warsaw flat as home. It was an embassy flat, and as such it was comfortable and lush, but it wasn't his place. Considering that he hadn't been in London a while though that wasn't home either. Nor any place close to it. This was the best he had to offer Merlin for now. He did let himself dream ahead for a moment, picturing Merlin in Cornwall, but he batted the thought away. He knew that that was just wishful thinking.

Merlin said, “Thanks,” and wandered into the bathroom. Arthur gave him towels and a change of underwear. “Do you want me to go to your old place and get your things?”

Merlin had already kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his jumper. Arthur leant against the door jamb, hugging the items he meant to lend Merlin to his chest. Merlin turned and shook his head. “I can do that on my own.”

“I didn't mean it like that.”

“Alator will move out in a few days,” Merlin said. “He has a new job, down south. I'll go get my things and give him a proper goodbye as soon as I can.The friendship remains and we owe each other that. I just shouldn't have lingered at his so long after... But I thought it would be wrong to move out.” Merlin grabbed a towel. “Because I do care for him and always will.”

Arthur understood that though he didn't want to think about Alator again. He'd hurt the man even though his relationship with Merlin had been over – sexually at least – even before Arthur came along. “I'm sorry...” Arthur said, and then specified because he didn't want to be misunderstood. “I'm sorry that your relationship was complicated and ended that way, but I'll never be sorry for getting you.”

“I'm glad,” Merlin said, with a gentling of the eyes. “I want to be with someone who wants me, someone who's glad of me.”

“I am.”

Merlin flushed.

Arthur felt aquickening of his body in reaction. I love looking at your body,” he said, his eyes widening, his lungs shrinking as though he couldn't breathe. “I love your body.”

Merlin slipped off his socks and removed his trousers, standing there naked before him. “Then look at me.” 

Arthur felt as though this game, whatever it was, was driving his senses to hyperawareness, encoding the moment, making it a pivotal one. “I am. I'll never stop. I am.”

Merlin stepped into the shower, manipulated the taps, then ducked under the spray, head bent, palm flat against the tiles. “Or join me.”

Arthur knew he wouldn't come again, not now. “I want to watch.”

Merlin free hand slipped to his cock. He washed it, teasing it to half mast, letting the water rinse away the soap before stroking himself into a full erection he milked with quick strokes and sharp pulls.

Arthur took an involuntary step forward. “Fuck.”

Merlin chuckled, eyes half closed to slits. “You said you didn't want to.”

“Bring yourself off,” he found himself saying. He was usually politer, even in the bedroom. He never ordered, seldom asked. He followed the flow and let things happen. Not today.

“Was working towards that.” Merlin's voice was strained as he rocked into his own hand.

Arthur let out a throaty moan.

He watched as Merlin pulled on his cock, till Arthur could see the pre-come glistening at the tip. Merlin gathered it, spread it around to make the glide easier, and fisted himself till, with a sob and and a mounting of the tension in his shoulders, he dripped strings of come right into the drain.

When Merlin was finished cleaning, Arthur wrapped him in the biggest towel he'd found, and kissed his lips slowly, carefully, the thrusts of his tongue lazy but exploratory. He hadn't done it like this yet, having been either shy (the first time) or hungry for touch (the second), but found that savouring Merlin, kissing him slowly, was something he could live for.

“Want to eat something?” he asked and Merlin shook his head.

They spent the rest of the afternoon talking, not about the future because Merlin was still settling into his choice, but about each other. They didn't say anything life changing, but shared little details of their life that might mean little yet brought them closer.

Merlin told him of his earliest memories of both his father and mother, their dive into poverty, his growing up, and struggle to settle after their death. He brought up Alator and what he'd done for him. “He's taught me so much,” Merlin said. “Changed me into an adult.”

“Maybe I would have liked the young, naïve Merlin from before Alator.”

“That Merlin wouldn't have made it in this harsh world.”

Arthur grazed his knuckles along the side of Merlin's face. “Then I'm glad he was there for you,” he said and he wasn't even lying.

“My life hasn't been so bad,” Merlin said, as if he thought he'd supplied Arthur with information leading to a skewed perspective of it. “I remember being very happy. When my dad wasn't angry at the Empire. And my mum was always fantastic.” He smiled. “I remember England too.”

“Would you like to go back?” 

Merlin looked the other way. “It's not where I belong. My dad wanted me here. Fighting for Poland's rights.”

Arthur lowered his head. He'd thoought that perhaps... But he got it. “Right. I suppose we all do what our fathers want.”

Prompted by Merlin's eyebrow twitch, Arthur told Merlin why he'd chosen a military career, about the scope of his influence, which he now, older and perhaps a little wiser than he'd been as a boy keen to join the ranks, understood better. “And that was how I ended where I was. The path was just there for me to take it.”

“But you can do something else,” Merlin said questioningly.

Arthur tapped his fingers on his knee, massaged it absently. “I can't, not at a time like this. I think I've got the measure of what is going to happen.”

“And you think that's war?”

“Yes.” Arthur had long thought this. Only a few wishful thinkers sitting behind their desks in their tapestried offices believed otherwise. 

“And you think that because of what happened yesterday night?”

“That,” Arthur said, though he had many more reasons he couldn't divulge. “And the daily headlines we get.”

Merlin nodded thoughtfully. “If a war breaks out it's going to be bad.” He took Arthur's hand in his, kissed the knuckles with a reverence that stopped Arthur's breath. “It's frightening.”

“I know,” Arthur said in a voice roughened by this overwhelming surge of love and fear he felt. “Let's make the most of now.”

They dined together by candlelight. Arthur pretended it was to save the Embassy a horrible electricity bill though he could admit to himself he only did it to watch the play of shadows on Merlin's features. They had sex again afterwards, Merlin hips arching in time as Arthur thrust himself in and out of him, both shuddering as they came one on the heels of the other.

Despite the events of the day, sleep came as easily for Arthur as it did for Merlin. However that didn't stick long. He woke in the middle of the night. He tried to focus on falling back asleep again but he didn't achieve the necessary measure of calm. Not wanting to toss and turn and thus wake Merlin, he pushed the covers off and marched back into his living room. 

The folder Magier had given him before dying was still in the inner pocket of his jacket.

Arthur took it out to study it by the light of a lamp, the figures, the tactical stats. A knot of worry formed in his belly and he slaved away at the documents, looking for an interpretation key while also trying to think of someone who could replace Magier and report to them.

He spent such a long time poring over the documents, he fell asleep at the table. Merlin woke him with a hand to his shoulder. “That's why you think we're on the brink of war,” he said with an eye to the document Arthur had flattened against the table top. “That's what happened last night. You lost the person that gave you this.”

Arthur gaped.

 

**** 

 

“I'm not supposed to be showing this to anyone,” Arthur said, scrabbling upright in his chair.

“I can understand that.” Merlin straddled a chair, letting his chin rest on the back. “But I can help. I can translate all that.”

“It's confidential.” Arthur put his palm flat on the papers. 

“You don't trust me?”

Arthur sighed. “Yes, I do.” He stood, got the gun from the dresser and slid it across the table and to Merlin. “Pick it up.”

“What, no!” Merlin said. “Why would I?”

Arthur turned the safety off and put the gun in Merlin's hands, his thumb sliding along the side of Merlin's hand. He steadied it between his and then pointed the gun at his chest. “That's how much I trust you.”

“Arthur,” Merlin said in an agonised tone. “I just wanted to help you translate. I do it for the Embassy, yes, even yours, sometimes. And sometimes it's even confidential material. So I thought...” He shrugged. “Nothing more.”

“I'll have to ask for clearance,” Arthur said. “It's the protocol. I believe in it. But I don't want you to think that I--”

“You probably do,” Merlin said. “But I understand. Can we put the gun down now? I never ever want to risk harming you.

Arthur let out a breath and did, ensuring the gun wouldn't go off. He stashed it back in a cupboard and turned. “Merlin, I--”

Merlin made a point of not looking at him. “Why don't we go out? Catch a film? Have a walk? Do something normal.” 

Since Arthur's bosses were busy analysing their own copy of the file Magier had provided and contacting London for new directives, Arthur had a few free days. He did put some calls in, phoning London and hoping they would take Magier's intel seriously, but he had time to spend with Merlin.

Because of the seeming lull in 'diplomatic' activity, they seemingly had full days at their disposal.

Even though sometimes Arthur had a feeling he was followed, random faces in a crowd suddenly becoming familiar, turning around to spot someone intent on watching him, he made the best of what he had and kept going out with Merlin as if none of that was happening. (They couldn't attack an English embassy official in broad daylight anyway.)

They saw a Charlie Chaplin film, Arthur taking Merlin's hand under his coat when the lights were down. They went to lunch together, seeking out small taverns and restaurants that served bracing food, and Merlin took him to visit places he remembered from when his father, in his apparently rare moments of political inactivity, took him out. Parks and bridges and secluded corners. 

They wore simple clothes as if these were their off days, Merlin going for old and comfortable ones that were mostly Arthur's. As they ate sandwiches in the park, Arthur kept watching him, a warm glow spreading thorough his insides at the thought Merlin had clothes on that smelt of him and were his. Garments that would end up smelling like Merlin and conforming to his shape. It was a nice thought to hold on to, one that made the blood rush to his heart.

Now Arthur was sure that he was saying things with his eyes that he didn't have the courage to put into words, but that wasn't worrying since he recognized acknowledgment in Merlin's face. Merlin was probably starting to believe in his commitment. Maybe he now felt he could put some trust in Arthur, that Arthur would stay, and that was good, considering the Embassy-shaped hurdle they had to jump.

Later that day, the last Arthur took free, they returned home, dined and went to bed. They had sex, slow and exploratory. They lay on their sides, bringing each other off with their hands, kissing as their orgasms pulsed out of them. 

After that Arthur couldn't sleep. He felt no heaviness on his eyelids. He felt energised, alert, perhaps a little scared. He felt like a man on the eve of a great battle who'd foreseen and prepared and arranged for all outcomes but the one he couldn't control, the one that might change the game and send his life hurtling in a direction he didn't want it to go. One in which Merlin wasn't there.

While Arthur pondered, Merlin slept peacefully. Looking at him, Arthur recalled the pressure of his hand on top of his when they'd settled into bed, and the way his face had crumpled when he'd come.

He decided he would do his best to make sure Merlin would both trust him and be alright, make it past whatever storm was coming.

He marched into du Bois' office the next day with the intention of getting his orders and keeping to his promise with himself.

Du Bois wasn't alone today though. Lord Monmouth, the ambassador himself, was present. A folder that Arthur recognised as a copy of the data Magier had passed on was spread on du Bois' desk. Du Bois was lazily leafing through it.

All his nerves vibrating, Arthur saluted. “Sir, my lord.”

“Pendragon,” said du Bois, “we have orders for you.”

“From London?” Arthur asked, wondering whether the tactical information he'd forwarded was being re-considered.

“No,” said du Bois, “from me and Lord Monmouth.”

“So this isn't being discussed in London?” Arthur asked. He knew he was risking irritating his superiors, but his country and most of Europe would pay for any strategy mistake government officials were to make from now on. 

“We could pass the information on to the French if it was.”

Monmouth interrupted him. “The Deuxieme Bureau has its own agents; they don't need us or our information. We don't think we should prioritise Magier's anyway. As stated before, we'd like you to go on with the plan, but there's no urgency.”

Arthur could do nothing but say, “Yes, sir.”

“We're glad that you're on the same page as us,” said du Bois as though he was looking for compromise.

“Yes, yes,” agreed Lord Monmouth airily.

Arthur asked the one question both men were expecting him to ask. “If I'm to proceed--”

“We told you to find someone to work as a spy for us,” du Bois said, making his voice smooth and conciliatory. “I think you have already landed on the right person.”

Arthur frowned at the wall behind du Bois. “I don't understand. I've yet to close in on an option.”

“The person we intend to use is currently residing in the flat we've provided for you.”

Arthur's eyes swivelled to do Bois. “You mean Merlin?”

“You can't think we didn't have you followed,” du Bois said with a shrug. “Of course we did, and for your own protection, considering that one of your contacts was killed on your watch.”

Arthur swallowed. He didn't point out that he hadn't been warned about this protection business. That would have been tantamount to stressing the obvious, and he was sure he'd just be told that he had to accept being followed by his own people as part of his job. He'd been vetted but that didn't mean the government would stop looking into his affairs. Officers had been bought before. They probably thought he wasn't as clean as he looked. “Merlin is Polish, not English, he isn't an engineer; he isn't a spy. We can't recruit him.”

“Please,” said du Bois. “We're recruiting people of all sorts. Disaffected Germans, Poles, Russians. He's translated for us already. We know his German is good enough to pass muster thanks to his father being born under Prussian rule. We have a file on him. It's less risky than finding someone else.”

“Sir,” Arthur said, turning to Lord Monmouth as the more reasonable of the two. “He isn't a professional.”

“Neither was Magier,” du Bois said while Lord Monmouth nodded his agreement.

“That's why he was killed!” Arthur protested.

“There's no time to find a substitute,” said Lord Monmouth. “He's a good choice.”

“There's time to make a different one.” Arthur made fists of his hands. “More than two weeks to be exact.”

“Not if you want him to brief him in time for the demonstrations,” said du Bois, who then turned to Monmouth. 

“Besides, he's already privy to more details concerning the Magier case than is recommendable.”

With a sinking feeling Arthur remembered the papers Merlin had had access to. “He knows nothing.”

Du Bois waved his hands about in dismissal. “You've been living with him. We said nothing about it. We don't care about it. But you can't deny he has had access.”

“Access maybe,” Arthur said, “but he didn't go looking; doesn't know anything. All he is aware of is that I went out one night armed and didn't come back until morning.”

Monmouth raised an eyebrow but Arthur ignored that sign of disapproval in order to plough on. “He doesn't know! No need to drag him into this.”

The corners of du Bois' mouth twitched downwards. “There's every need. He's already partly embroiled, suits our purposes, and if he turns coat we can still use him.”

Arthur knew what happened to perceived turncoats, and though he was sure of Merlin, he didn't want these people to ever be in a position to remotely suspect him. “Sir, he won't. He's not disloyal. But trustworthiness aside that  
doesn't mean he can become an agent.”

Monmouth intervened. “Enough. That's decided. If something comes of the data he gathers, we'll pass it on to London.”

Arthur couldn't oppose an ambassador. He could file a report against du Bois. The Pendragon name was respected and du Bois' position at the Embassy wasn't so unshakeable as he liked to believe. But a commander didn't cross an Ambassador while keeping his job. Still, he owed Merlin a last attempt. “Sir--”

“Either you approach him or we will.”

Arthur looked down. If Merlin thought this'd help Arthur, he would do it. If Arthur talked to him instead he could still persuade him not to take the job on. “What if he won't?”

“Then we'll make him,” said du Bois. “He's in possession of knowledge he shouldn't have come by. We can tip the Polish police, the members of which are all likely to collaborate with us, and have him arrested.”

“I'm afraid that, given the amount of knowledge he might have come by, that is the only possible solution to our quandary,” said Monmouth, a little more conciliatory now.

“You yourself said 'might',” Arthur said, grasping at straws. He didn't want Merlin to end up in prison just because he 'might' have been privy to something he shouldn't have. “You can't act on those grounds. It's illegal and patently not grounds to charge someone.”

“It is when we're dealing with enemies scattered everywhere,” du Bois said. “As for you, Commander Pendragon, I'd rather you didn't put up any more objections. I wouldn't find reporting you back to London pleasing.”

Arthur tipped his chin up. “Sir.”

Devising a way to tell Merlin became Arthur's main concern that day. He turned in his paperwork for the week, checked the mail Alice had left on his table, made a few calls and then left earlier than he otherwise would have.

He found Merlin at Arthur's own place, writing away at his desk. 

Arthur approached him, his hand going to the back of the chair Merlin was occupying. “Are you very busy?”

Merlin put the pen down. “I was contracted to translate an opera libretto. Couldn't find your typewriter and I decided to do it the old-fashioned way.”

“It's in my bedroom,” Arthur said, then reproaching himself for avoiding the subject when he knew that was cowardly, he continued, “Merlin, I've got to talk to you about what you saw.”

Merlin craned his neck at him. “I'm all ears.” He made a funny face, probably meant to poke fun at himself and defuse Arthur's serious mood. But Arthur couldn't avoid the ominous tone of his voice or the frown he felt was puckering his forehead. 

Merlin noticed. “What? You think I'd tell? I haven't even read it all.”

“My bosses think that you have though,” Arthur said. “They know you're staying with me. They think you must have figured out what happened because they had me followed.”

Merlin placed a hand before his mouth. “Would it help if I talked to them?”

“No, Merlin, it wouldn't. You'll have to do it. It's either that or a less pleasing choice.”

Merlin's eyes stayed focused on his. “Is this going to help?”

“I'm not sure a war can be prevented,” Arthur said with all the honesty he could summon. “I mean, maybe, perhaps. Who wants another one after the devastation of '14?” Arthur's father had fought in the war and had told him, in his own clipped way, that the Great War had been a nightmare. Not a gentlemen's war. “But truthfully?” Arthur continued, “I think we're poised on the brink of it.”

“Okay.” Merlin seemed to accept Arthur's assessment at face value. “Is it going to help _you_?”

“Yes,” Arthur admitted. “I'd been working on this for a while before--” Before Magier died. “But I don't want you to run in any danger.”

“Then I'll do it.” Merlin's jaw jutted out. “I'll do it for you. No need to ask.”

**** 

 

Merlin had a suitcase clamped beneath his arm; Arthur's rested at his feet so that he'd look like a bored travelling salesman rather than like someone who needed to keep his baggage under surveillance. They were still in Poland and thus mostly safe, but this was a busy station and anyone might be looking. Anyone at all. Behaviour counted in spy games. At 0935, the two of them boarded the train that would take them over the border and to Munich.  
Arthur tipped the conductor so he'd find them an empty compartment and settled there.  
When the train was under way and they were at no risk from eavesdroppers, Arthur opened his case and handed Merlin a pile of documents.

“That's your passport.”

Merlin examined it. “It looks real.”

Arthur tried a smile. “Only the best for you.”

“I never thought that enrolling in the army--”

“Navy--”

“Navy,” Merlin said with a grin designed to cover the tremor in his hands, “gave you the power to mess with the law like this.”

Arthur fleetingly covered Merlin's hand with his. “Merlin, when this is over--”

“It isn't yet, is it?” Merlin asked. “Let's do this first.”

Arthur walked Merlin through the mission's briefing. On the surface everything seemed easy. “You have Magier's invitation to the demonstration, but since you don't look like him and they know they've killed him, your passport isn't in his name.”

“So the invitation is a counterfeit?”

“Partly,” said Arthur, “but the original document was used to create it. Yet as a matter of precaution don't show that around too much. All you have to do is wave your ID and invitation around and act like someone who understands the basics of engineering.”

“Which I don't.”

Arthur passed Merlin a book. “Just so you get familiar with the lingo. Anyway I don't want you to engage.”

“Engage?”

“I mean just listen in, take photographs of the tank prototypes, make mental notes about everything and then come back to me,” Arthur said, looking at Merlin as if he could impress the gist of his instructions on him by simple virtue of outstaring him. “When you're back, I'll write up a report and after that your spying days are going to be over.”

Merlin looked left and right then placed his lips on top of his. 

Short of breath, Arthur said, “As much as I loved that, don't do that again or you'll blow our covers.”  
Merlin nodded thoughtfully.

A few hours later they were stopped at the German border control. The passports worked like a charm, proclaiming as they did, their statuses as Canadian and German nationals. Purportedly, Merlin was listed as a civil engineer, Arthur as a salesman. If asked, Arthur would say he worked for the same Freiburg company as Merlin.

Merlin stiffened as the guard examined his passport and Arthur darted him a look suggesting he cut it. Merlin got it and made a concerted effort to look more relaxed. Arthur saw the tension in his shoulders unwind and the stiffness of his facial muscles give way to a serious but more composed look.

Since their passports had been meticulously counterfeited, they were waved through and bidden to take their seat on the waiting train.

By evening they'd reached the outskirts of Munich. Arthur hailed a cab, asking to be driven to a garage that was little more than an old shed.

Using the money the Embassy had provided him for such uses, Arthur purchased a reliable car in the shape of a Citroen-15CV. It was the type of car someone like his alter ego could well afford but whose engine could pull off the kind of performance that could facilitate flight in case flight became necessary.  
It had a front—a fancy grille and a brand new engine. 

Arthur coasted the car, inspecting the engine one last time as well as the capacity of the boot before agreeing to the purchase. When he was satisfied this was what he wanted and needed, he propped his suitcase on the bonnet, took out a fake licence plate and told the mechanic to rig it up. The man's eyebrow shot up. 

“You'll obviously be compensated,” said Arthur in the best German he could summon.

Merlin bumped shoulders with him. “You've thought of everything,” he said in German so as not to raise suspicions as to Arthur's nationality and role in this. 

Arthur said very low, “I'm a professional.”

Merlin brushed knuckles with him.

When the mechanic was done, Arthur paid him and told him that he'd be in the area again, needing a new car probably. If the man found him one, Arthur would find more money to give him. That, he hoped, would buy the mechanic's silence.

Soon after they were back on the road, heading for Freiburg. The road was a good one, newly made, and Arthur decelerated, making the ride a slow one. 

Merlin's brow puckered at the odometer. “Why are we going so slow? I thought we didn't want to be noticed?”

“If I speeded I would ensure we'd get noticed,” said Arthur, hands on the wheel. “Besides, I don't want to arrive in daylight. We'd draw too much attention to ourselves.”

In order not to do so, Arthur drove them to a dive of a hotel, a hotel that scarcely could be called one. 

Entering was a shock for Arthur too. He'd never exactly been in a place like this before despite occasionally playing cloak and dagger.

“Mmmm,” Merlin said. “It think this is a brothel.”

It most decidedly was too. 

The reception room was drab and dirty; its walls were smoke stained where the paint wasn't peeling off. A blond girl wearing tawdry make up and generally as little as possible while avoiding nudity, was clinging to a Wehrmarcht officer. She was clearly in full flirtation mode, since she was whispering in his ear, catching his lobe with her lips. When she wasn't doing that she was running her hands all over his back and chest, promising heaven for so little, “Herr Sturmbahnfuhrer.”

Arthur wished the man would concentrate on the girl rather than him and Merlin. Merlin seemed to be of the same mind for he fell back and tried to look as uninteresting as possible.

Unfortunately, the Wehrmarcht officer did turn to take a long look at Arthur and Merlin. Arthur's gun was stashed away, so he was sure he passed for a tradesman, but the look the man shot him gave him the chills. 

Arthur calmed down the moment he realised the officer was in his cups. To stay vertical, the man needed to support himself on the reception counter. He also swayed a little, with that off-kilter rhythm of the truly soused. He probably wasn't in a state to take in much barring the advances of the lady he was with, nor did he seem likely to remember Merlin and Arthur's faces if he ever saw them again.

The officer caught the attention of the receptionist and said, “Hey, Inge, you have customers. I think you should see to them or you'll lose them and then where will you be, hey, Inge?”

Inge ignored the officer and turned to them. As she did so, she managed to give Merlin and Arthur a careful once over. When she was done with her study, she winked at them in a way that made Arthur feel naked and said, “Want a room for the night, boys? We don't care about what you do with it as long as you pay upfront.”

“I should care,” said the officer. “It's not done... It's wrong... I should care.”

“No, you shouldn't,” said the girl he was with, an eye on the money Arthur and Merlin could pay. She tugged him towards one of the rooms on the first floor. “You've got me to satisfy, soldier.” 

Arthur walked up to the counter. “Yes, we need one for a couple of days.”

A whooping sound came from up the stairs. A bawdy song wafted down from the same direction.

“That's six reichsmarks.” 

Arthur paid without objecting. He didn't want Inge on his bad side, reporting them to the police. 

Inge checked the banknotes for authenticity, counted and recounted them. “Here's your keys.”

Arthur grabbed them and followed Inge up a rickety staircase, Merlin in tow. She wobbled along an ill lit corridor and stopped in front of one of the rooms. “This one here is yours,” she said. “Remember, we're here at your disposal in case things get lonely just by yourselves. Just in case you, you know, changed your minds. Most of the girls are cheap and for the right price you can aim higher up.”

Arthur said, “Thank you, but we're just here on business.” 

The receptionist made a show of chortling first then sighing loudly, put upon. She lolloped off elsewhere, though not before having pawed Merlin's left buttock.

The room was small and a little suffocating, with two beds, a single bedstand, no wardrobe and generally no place to keep your belongings in. All the wiring was visible, and the telephone they were supplied with looked as though it wouldn't be working anytime soon.

Arthur hid his valise in the only place available, under the bed, and shed his coat, then before Merlin could do the same he slammed him up against the door and let his lips linger above Merlin's for a moment, before fitting them to his mouth. Breathlessly, Merlin opened up to a seamless glide of wet lips on lips. Less gently than he would have in other circumstances, Arthur pushed his tongue inside.

Merlin answered with as much passion as Arthur had infused in the kiss and before long they were touching each other as much as they could. Merlin placed an arm around his neck, forking the fingers of his other hand through his hair, combing it back. With a moan, he settled against him, so that their hips aligned. 

Arthur nearly blanked out. “I know it isn't in the plans, and that there's tomorrow to consider, but I want you,” Arthur said, his face almost too close to Merlin's for him to properly see it. “I--”

Merlin placed a hand on his mouth to still the flow of his words and nodded. “Get me off,” he said against his mouth.  
Arthur held Merlin's lower lip between his teeth and lowered his hand to below his waist. He made quick work of belt and zipper, lowered Merlin's underwear and grabbed between his legs. He found Merlin's cock, his grasp slipping up and down. 

Merlin's mouth fell open against his temple. “That's-- go on.”

“Only if you promise not to run any stupid risks tomorrow.” Even so Arthur ran his hand along it, sensing the stiffness of Merlin's muscles as he braced for pleasure.

“I know what to do now,” Merlin said. “It's going to be easy.”

Arthur's hands worked up and down, teasing, his thumb sliding over the wetness he was starting to milk, spreading it in widening circles before dropping his hand. “This--” He tried to force the words out of his mouth. “--this kind of thing is never easy. People have died for less.”

“I'm not going to die!” Merlin told him, grasping his face, his side, widening his eyes as if to impress the sense of that into Arthur. “I'm not. Now touch me again for the ever loving--”

Arthur didn't let Merlin finish. He grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pushed him towards the bed, bending him over the foot of it while allowing him to brace himself against it. 

“Arthur” 

“Trust me, “ Arthur said, pulling on Merlin's trousers to bare his arse. “Trust me.”

Merlin bowed his head, his arms taut underneath him. 

Arthur prodded Merlin's ankles apart and undid his belt and trousers, dragging the zip down. He took out his cock. It had already grown and a few passes of his hand made it fully hard. With his free hand, he spread Merlin, so his prick could slide between his arse-cheeks. 

As skin grazed skin, they both grunted, appreciating the position, before Arthur started rocking forwards and against him, slipping in a rhythmic back and forth against Merlin's thighs, forcing friction. To get Merlin off in turn, Arthur wrapped his hand around him. He tried to stroke him in a tempo similar to the one of his motions. 

As Arthur fucked him between the legs, his shoulders hunched, his body wrapped around Merlin's bent one, Merlin's muscles gripped him. Arthur's skin felt on fire. He wanted to stay in this moment just as much as he wanted to climb the high. His lips teased the back of Merlin's ear. 

“Merlin,” he said, not coherent enough to tell him all he meant. “Merlin.” His hand sped up, causing Merlin's body to go into lock-down. As that happened, Merlin's come spurted out of him, coating Arthur's fingers. Now limp, Merlin’s knees gave and he toppled onto the bed. 

Arthur rolled on top of him, grabbing his hand so their fingers were locked, thrusting his cock between his slightly parted legs again, hips snapping jerkily away, until he was shaking and then, with a rush of warmth that spread from his insides, coming

When his breathing evened, he flopped to Merlin's side and took to caressing his hair.

Merlin smiled at him. “It will be all right.”

 

**** 

 

They'd both woken early, almost, Arthur believed, at the same time. One moment he was blinking and the next Merlin was looking into his eyes. 

“Big spying day.”

“Yeah,” Arthur croaked. He didn't add anything else to that for fear of his voice faltering more.

Merlin propped himself up on his elbow. “Then I guess we'd better get going.”

Arthur surged up to get a kiss out of Merlin. “I can drive you only so far, you know.” 

Merlin snorted. “I may not be a spy but I do realise that I can't be seen with you. Now let me have a shower, unmake the other bed so it'll look slept in, and then let's go.” 

Arthur drove through dense fog and down a country road that sported a few dramatic bumps, unlike most of the new motorways that had spread around in Germany, a by-product of an evident bid for heavy industrialisation that was another symptom of the oncoming war.

The state of the road or rather the choice of the venue that linked the latter to said road, seemed like a deliberate attempt to keep people from pursuing it and stumbling upon the demonstration site. (Though heavily guarded by military personnel as the location was no fortuitous stumbling could be pulled off.) 

When he was almost two miles off, Arthur steered the car off the road and onto a dirt track that was hidden from it. He killed the engine, opened the door, and stepped out of it.

Merlin did the same on his side. 

Arthur gave him the car keys. “I expect to see you back by five this afternoon. Earlier if possible.”

“I'm not entirely stupid,” Merlin said. “I'm not going to stay for a chat.”

“Remember just--”

“There's a mini-camera hidden in my briefcase. I must only use it when I'm sure there's no else around as for the rest, keep your head down is the rule.” Merlin grinned. “Did I learn my lesson well?”

Arthur's jaw locked. “Merlin, there's no joking about--”

“I know,” Merlin said, jingling the car keys. “I know. I was trying for humour. I'll be back in-- a while, promise.”

Merlin didn't kiss him before driving off. He merely regaled him with a very intense look that made Arthur want to beg him to stay with him, to hell the consequences.

The car lifted an enormous amount of dust as it chugged back towards the motorway. Arthur watched it until it disappeared, then slipped his hands into his pocket and walked the two miles separating him from the small village he'd seen while driving towards Merlin's drop off place.

He dove into a beer garten and ordered himself a glass of ale in as few words as possible so as not to betray his accent. He drank outside despite the less than clement weather, his hat pulled low on his forehead, and kept an ear out for any piece of local gossip that might turn out to be of use to him.

It would keep his mind off Merlin and thoughts of his safety and contribute positively to his mission. At first he heard nothing that related to it, but once the locals had forgotten about his presence, which was something they did as soon as Arthur settled down inconspicuously, complaints about the military having the run of the nearby fields started to trickle in.

“I mean they're tearing down trees with their tanks.”

“How do you know it was the tanks that did it, eh, Hermann?” a man from the group of drinkers asked. “It could have been a storm.”

“I fought in the war, Tobias, I fought in the war. I can recognise tank tracks and those are bloody tank tracks.”

Arthur buried his head in his tankard and took a sip. That seemed interesting. Tanks weren't meant for ground that was not open. That meant that the modifications Magier had talked about were real. Now if Merlin could get more than just engineering plans but something like photographs depicting the actual machinery, then Arthur's case would be made.

Nobody in London would be able to deny what was going on. 

He eavesdropped for a while longer, gathering other small titbits. The demonstration location, an ex-fallow field bordered by a stretch of woods, had seen lots of comings and goings over the past few months. People from Berlin apparently. 

Someone had also landed a plane in a field and bigwigs from the military had been subsequently seen around. One had made a move on one of the farmers' wives. The action had caused a bit of a scandal.All in all this didn't seem like much but it put things in perspective.

If these demonstrations Magier had won access to warranted interference from Berlin, then it stood to reason to think they were important.

Arthur took another pull of beer, left a tip – neither too much nor too little, just the kind of amount that wouldn't be remembered – and left, making sure his hat and turned up collar hid his face.

As he slogged out of the village, he gave his watch a glance. He'd better make it back to Merlin's drop off point. It was two miles off and the trek would take him an hour at least. He'd wasted more than an hour at the bier garten and if he added to that the time he'd spent walking from field to village he could say he'd wasted a good part of the morning and early afternoon. He'd put the time spent in the public house to good use, but he still wanted to be there for Merlin in case he arrived earlier, or something happened.

The last thing he wanted was for Merlin not to find him when he needed him, or for him not to be able to do anything in case Merlin got into trouble. 

He got to the dropping place by three PM. It was still too early for Merlin to surface, unless of course, something had happened, so he hid away from the road confluence and set out to wait. 

The weather changed on him; the clouds that had been scuttling past assembling and threatening rain. Which came an hour later, falling down in sheets that turned the hard as dust soil into mud. 

An hour passed. More rain fell. Two cars sped by. They had an official look about them though Arthur couldn't pinpoint why.

The rendezvous time came and went. Arthur waited. The rain thinned but left rivulets of mud all around him.

Arthur lowered his hat and pushed his hands into his coat's pocket to battle the cold that was working its way into his bones. 

Another hour passed.

Arthur started to picture the worst case scenarios. If Merlin had outed himself, he could have been detained. Maybe he was trying to explain away his presence. His fake passport would withstand even close examination, but the papers Magier had provided wouldn't. 

If it got to that, Merlin could be arrested. Maybe he had been and was now being interrogated. Could Merlin withstand that? He wasn't in the military; he wasn't a government official who'd been trained to fight his way out of such a situation. Or to even bear it. He was, like many men and women who were doing what Merlin was doing, a regular bloke, with no frame of reference for these spying games.

Maybe it was far-fetched to think that he'd been taken into custody by Abwher men since no car had driven his way from the demonstration ground. But there were other, albeit not beaten roads, leading away from it. Maybe Merlin had been taken that way. Everything was possible.

What preyed on Arthur the most was the fact that he had no way of rescuing Merlin if that was the case. He was on German territory with fake documents and no official orders as to what to do if he lost his contact agent (Merlin, in this case).

He would be expected to cut his losses and make it back to Poland according to plans. Merlin would be written off, and if he died, no government would ever raise an objection. Not the British one because Merlin wasn't a national and officially the government didn't hire spies to poke at Germany's activities.

Not Poland either. The country wasn't militarily strong enough to face Germany. The European equilibrium depended on the French continuing to support the Poles while threatening Germany. Warsaw wouldn't emit a pip about Merlin if something happened, for Merlin was to all intents and purposes violating the laws of a sovereign state. Spying wasn't a sanctioned activity and once you were caught you were literally on your own.

Arthur kicked at a pebble. “I'll get you out,” he said to himself. He was alone and thinking he could fight his way out of a hostile country and save Merlin was silly. But it was a way of vocalising his promise. It was a vow he meant to stick to, whatever it took. It gave him hope.

Another hour went by and Merlin was late by two. Arthur tugged at his hair.

A series of vehicles splashed past. There was no trace of Arthur's black market Citroen-15. The sun had gone down; headlights occasionally lit up swathes of road and still there was no Merlin.

Arthur tried a series of mental calculations. The demonstration was meant to end at six. That much they knew. Merlin only had to stay long enough to collect as much data as he could. After that they'd agreed he'd make his way back. He'd just have to pick a moment when he wouldn't be noticed.

Why hadn't Merlin done it? True, maybe somebody had approached him and he couldn't disengage without raising suspicions, but Arthur still thought that he would have had ample time to sneak out.

Arthur's heart lurched in his chest. Abandoning his low visibility hiding place, he moved closer to the asphalt road. He had to pretend to be walking purposefully somewhere so as not to be spotted as an oddity by the drivers of the oncoming cars, but he couldn't keep away.

He was about to turn about so he could start his peregrination again, when a car washed him in its headlights, blinding him, and pulled up to him. Arthur was ready to lie his way out in case the need for his presence on this stretch of motorway was questioned, or even shoot, when the glass was rolled down and Merlin squinted up at him. “Need a lift?”

Arthur placed his hand on the warm, purring bonnet, and said, “Shut up, you gave me a fright.”

“You? I scared you? The government spy?”

Arthur's gaze was sober when it landed on Merlin. “I was sure you hadn't made it.”

Merlin tipped his head towards the valise placed on the passenger seat. “Man of little faith. I have. I have lots.”

 

***** 

 

A staffer announced Arthur and ushered him into the Ambassador's office. It was a better office than the one du Bois head. The walls were oak panelled, plush carpets had been strewn around most visible surfaces, and the chair behind the desk was not like any of the others that were made use of around the embassy. This one was wider and massive, throne like.

In it sat Lord Monmouth, a cup of tea by his left elbow, a pile of reports at his right side.

“Ah, Commander Pendragon,” Lord Monmouth said, sweeping his hand at the chair that sat opposite his. “Please, have a seat. We've got to talk.”

Arthur saluted and did as he was told. 

“I wanted to discuss your report with you.”

“Lord Monmouth--”

“Do not worry, do not worry,” Lord Monmouth said, arching an eyebrow in a way he probably meant to be benevolent, but that reminded Arthur of a school teacher's frown. “This new report of yours is being appreciated for what it is. It's more solid than the other ones and we finally see it as proof of activities we deem as concern raising.”

Arthur's shoulders sagged in plain relief. Merlin had taken massive risks to rake together that info. He'd told Arthur that the reason he'd taken so long to come back on the day of the mission was because he'd sneaked into a tent and taken photos. A high ranking officer had then come in and Merlin had had to dive under a table and wait for the officer to depart. “This is good news, my Lord.” Arthur leant forward. “Especially since we have evidence of...”

“I know, I know,” Lord Monmouth said. “I read your report attentively. They have better tanks than before, tanks that can move in bad weather conditions – the rain proved that – and that can plough over a forest... That's why we're sending you to London. We want you to state the facts to a commission.”

Arthur compressed his lips. “Everything I know is in that report. I don't think my presence in London would serve any real purpose.”

“And yet we're sending you,” Lord Monmouth said. “You'll present the case as it is and answer questions.”

Arthur felt his insides wrenched. He didn't want to go to London. He felt his place was here. He dug his nails in the palms of his hands and raised his chin. He couldn't disobey a direct order concerning his immediate deployment but he was coming very close to it. “Sir.” He stood. Then the question that was on the tip of his tongue slipped. “How long will they keep me in London?”

Lord Monmouth gave a half shrug. “I don't know. That's their concern.” Monmouth stood too, turning to face the King's portrait that hung behind his desk a little askew. When he was done, his hands went behind his back. “I thought you would see it as a prize. Rumour has it you only took this Warsaw posting out of duty and that you secretly wished to leave.”

Arthur gathered his hands into closed fists. “People?”

“People, yes. They all spoke up with your well-being at heart. They thought you wanted to be assigned to London once again. And I can see why a young, ambitious man such as you would want to be at the centre of things, rather than having to live it out here--”

“My Lord,” Arthur interrupted quickly, “I wish to keep my position in Warsaw.”

“I see,” said Monmouth in the tone of a man who thought the proposition odd. “If your superiors in London agree I have no objection to you resuming your duties once you're back.”

A smile got away from Arthur. “Thank you, sir. I was wondering if I could take someone with me.”

“Commander, I can order you about as far as your job is concerned. If this person makes travelling arrangements to follow you on their own I can't stop them.” He released a sigh. “I just wish you were prudent in your choice.”

“I've been,” Arthur said. He couldn't say more without exposing the ins and outs of his situation, but he felt confident now saying that Merlin was on his side. He'd taken so many risks for him. Even the government would see that. “Thank you for the vote of confidence, my Lord.”

Monmouth dismissed him with a lazy flick of his hand. “You can go, Commander. If you meet the Lord of the Admiralty, extend my greetings to him.”

“Will be done, sir.”

Despite having been given orders to leave for London by the end of the week, Arthur didn't treat the rest of his day as a half holiday. Instead he worked normal office hours, seeing to tons of paperwork and finding his load not heavy at all.

He was diligent and methodical and by the time six struck he called himself proud. As he put hat and raincoat on, he was whistling an old navy ditty. Alice walked in as he struck the highest note. “You sound happy, Commander.”

Arthur fixed his scarf around his collar. “I can't say that I'm not.”

“I heard you were being sent to London,” Alice said with a smile that was slow in blooming but that was friendly and comforting. “I'm glad you're having your way about that at last. I thought my putting in a good word with Lord Monmouth wouldn't serve, seeing as I'm just an archivist here, but it did.”

Arthur's hand stopped a few inches shy of the handle of the briefcase he'd meant to pick up. “You told him I wanted another posting?”

“I haven't told him about the letter in your drawer,” Alice said, clamping a hand around his forearm. “Just about your general wish to go. I could see it etched on your face, young man.”

Arthur shook his head. “No,” he said. “I want to stay. I want to stay in Warsaw.”

“But I thought--”

“My place is here.” 

Alice's smile faltered. “I hope I haven't rained on your plans then.”

Arthur tried a smile. “No, no. You meant well.”

“Whatevers' made you change your mind,” Alice started again, tentatively. “I hope that it's a good reason. That you're sure of your new plans.”

“I am,” he said, patting the hand wrapped around his arm. “I really am.”

Her smile widened though it wasn't as bright as the one she'd greeted him with.

Arthur bid her goodbye by tipping his hat at her.

Hat low, he walked down the boulevard and got to his car. He scraped snow off the windscreen. Since even more snow was being blown his way by an icy wind from the north, Arthur quickly settled behind the wheel.

He had to drive slowly because the tires had little purchase but he made it home shortly before seven. 

Hoping Merlin would be there, Arthur rushed upstairs. He flung his door open and called out, “Merlin.”

Merlin was elbow deep in papers. Arthur's typewriter was sitting in front of him on the desk. Two huge tomes were placed beside it. Arthur thought one of them might be a specialised dictionary. 

Merlin looked up from his work. “Hello,” he said. “How was your embassy meeting?”

Arthur hung his hat from a peg. “Fine. Fine.” He took a chair and pushed it close to Merlin's. He leaned on his elbows and locked his hands together. “They're sending me to London. To represent my case to them. Based on your report.”

“Oh,” Merlin said, turning in his seat. “I see. Well, at least they'll probably believe you now. And it's good, isn't it. For Poland too?”

“Yes,” Arthur said. “Being aware is a good thing.”

Merlin smiled. “So how long are you going to stay?”

“A few weeks, I guess.” Arthur twiddled his thumbs together. “Maybe a month or two, depending on the bureaucratic process. And that's why I hope you want to come with me. I don't have a London house anymore, but I can find us something.”

“I can't, Arthur,” Merlin said. “I need to stay here. In Poland. It's my country and we're a step away from war. I can't go.”

“It wouldn't be forever,” Arthur said. “Just for a while.”

Merlin leant forwards and took his lips in a long, slow kiss that started out tame, but became more passionate and involved. “I know. But I belong here. My job is here. I think I can get a few more things in the next few months. It's not... My father wanted me to be Polish.”

Arthur cupped Merlin's cheeks. “You wouldn't be betraying him if you came. And you're half English too.”

“Half Welsh.” Merlin nipped at his lips. “I'll be waiting here.” His face clouded over. “Unless you mean to move back there indefinitely.” Merlin's eyes got misty, with a far away look in them. “I understand if you want to go back home. I do understand.”

Arthur swiped Merlin's hair off his forehead. “No, I don't mean to. I mean to come back here as soon as I'm done convincing a bunch of bureaucrats that Germany means business in regards to Poland and France.”

“All right then.” Merlin stood, dragging Arthur up with him. “Then I'll come pick you up the moment you arrive.”

“I just--”

“I'll be there.”

They walked into the bedroom hand in hand.

 

**** 

 

Arthur walked over to Admiralty House, getting access to the site by way of the Ripley Building. 

He proceeded to wait in a reception room until he was told he could see Lord Stanhope. The new Lord of the Admiralty – Arthur had been sent to Warsaw before Lord Stanhope's appointment – was a man in his fifties. He had a rather amicable face for a man in his position; his smile seemed relaxed, as was his body language. He was elegant, and looked blasé, his face was free of worry lines, and apart from a carefully tended moustache, he was closely shaven and appeared rather younger and more laid back than his real age and position would warrant an onlooker to think.

After Arthur had been ushered in, Lord Stanhope stood up. “Commander Pendragon, it's a pleasure. I trust your journey here was safe and not too uncomfortable.”

Arthur stood at attention. “I was flown in courtesy of the RAF.”

“Good, good,” Lord Stanhope said. “I'm glad you had a decent trip over, the more so since you brought us serviceable intelligence.”

Arthur didn't point out the fact that the intelligence he had collected had already been transmitted to London days prior his arrival. Lord Stanhope knew just as Arthur did. “My Lord.”

“No need to rest on formalities, Commander. You'll find a promotion is waiting for you. I've just had a chat with the PM about that.”

Arthur thanked Lord Stanhope as politely as he could, but couldn't help the wave of misgiving he felt. Instead of questioning him on the data forwarded, Lord Stanhope had cut that off in favour of discussing something much less important.

“Thanks to you we now know something more about the Wehrmarcht and Sichereitsdienst's activities,” Lord Stanhope said. “We've worked on your data over the course of a number of meetings, SIS officers in attendance, and I guarantee you, even though we're still working on some of the details, the information you've provided will be taken into account.”

“So this is going to affect our new plans?” Arthur asked, wondering if his findings would contribute to shape a new policy. 

“I can't guarantee it,” said Lord Stanhope. “These decisions involve more than just the Navy or the Military. The facts have to be presented to the Cabinet.”

“If you'll allow me, my lord,” said Arthur, “but the facts are glaring.”

“Analysts will be sifting them for this very reason,” said Lord Stanhope. He walked round the desk and sat on the edge of it closest to Arthur. “There's much to be considered in this kind of scenario. We can't risk the European status-quo on the basis of data that might be misleading.”

Arthur couldn't quite believe his ears. He knew politicians were obstinate once they were set on a track. He knew Lord Stanhope was close to Chamberlain and that he would follow the latter's policies to the letter, but that he wouldn't even seriously consider Arthur's information came as a surprise.

“Misleading?” Arthur asked with a head tilt.

“The government has to consider the possibility of a deliberate attempt to misdirect.”

“I don't see how.”

“We're getting everything we want at a time when, after the Munich agreement, we might have guaranteed peace. It sounds too good to be true, to be honest. I'm sure that all material coming from Germany will support the theories propounded by your intelligence.”

Arthur had heard this theory before from Monmouth. He just didn't think Monmouth had seen fit to communicate it to the higher ups in London, thus making his job vain. “I don't think that's necessarily true, sir,” Arthur said.

Lord Stanhope didn't take umbrage at Arthur opposing him. His features remained calm. “Unfortunately spy games are complicated, Commander. The Germans must have thought this through and it is a very old trick. The oldest one I can think of. They're keeping us off track. Yes, they have aims on Poland, but Mr Chamberlain's visit to Munich has put paid to that for the near future. As for France, they've got their own plans. Which I'm sure will work when it comes to keeping the Germans at bay.”

“I see how that is a strategic decision that's up to the French government, my lord, but wouldn't it be prudent to act as though the data we have gathered is of importance?” Arthur tried to press his point. He thought it was important to. 

Lord Stanhope nodded briskly. “Yes, yes. Indeed. The report will be further analysed. Meanwhile I want you to know there's no intention on our part to take away from your contribution.” Lord Stanhope cleared his throat. “In fact, you deserve full credit for all that you've done in Warsaw in the past year. A promotion is a sure thing for you at this point.”

“My lord,” Arthur said, colouring at the thought his superiors believed he was angling for a promotion. “That is not what I want. I'm grateful, but that's not why I was pressing for you to consider my report.”

Lord Stanhope smiled benevolently and in a way that irked Arthur. “I never meant to accuse of that. I know you're not trying to climb ranks. But we understand how partial one can be to one's own theories. In that light, you'll have to see that we, as the government, have to consider other possibilities, including a deliberate attempt to send us barking up the wrong tree.”

Arthur worked hard to conceal his irritation. “I see.”

“I'm glad you do,” said Lord Stanhope. He stood again, paced around his desk, then sat down again, cracking his knuckles. “I expect you're waiting for further orders.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“We want you in London for the next month or so,” said Lord Stanhope in the same affable and unconcerned tone. “In case we need to consult the man who compiled the data.”

“Yes, my lord.” After having heard the same kind of spiel from Stanhope that he'd been subjected to in Warsaw, he was angry enough he didn't want to tarry on. All that work, his and Merlin's lives at stake, and all for what? There'd be no change in the direction of policy making, he was sure now. The opposition he'd encountered in Warsaw was here too. It wasn't a question of du Bois or Monmouth. Lord Stanhope was saying the same things as the other two. So now staying in London seemed even more pointless than before. “I see.” 

“I’m glad you do. There's no one in the Navy that doubts your abilities, Commander. You're a good officer. We won't be forgetting that any time soon.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“No need to thank me, Pendragon” said Lord Stanhope. “What's deserved's deserved.”

Arthur nodded his head: there was little he could say. He was being flattered and admitting to being less than happy about the outcome of his visit would be frowned upon. He'd better keep silent now and talk when it was needed: when he was consulted again.

“I suppose I shouldn't detain you any longer. I expect you’d rather go out and party now that you're back home.”

“I'll visit my father, my lord.”

“Ah, Admiral Pendragon,” said Lord Stanhope. “Extend my regards.”

 

**** 

Arthur gave taking a cab a pass and opted for walking. The weather was way milder than in Warsaw at this time of year and having got used to its biting claws Arthur found taking a walk in winter in London perfectly doable. 

The city seemed to be throbbing with life; cars thronging the mall, shoppers hopping on and off buses, people taking short cuts through Hyde Park, just as Arthur had chosen to do. The city was loud and bustling and war seemed so far away. A nanny pushed a pram, instinctively singing under her breath. Lovers kissed within the frame of checked nature. There was a man on a bench, reading a newspaper; his air calm and genial, as if his was a routine that couldn't be shaken by world events. 

That kind of attitude seemed widespread. Before dropping in to visit his father, Arthur popped in at his old gentlemen’s club to have a bite. There, too, people were discussing politics. They were doing so in the way of the uninformed, offering opinions that were based less on newspaper headlines and more on their sense of Britain's security. One or two older men were scared at the prospect of a new war but that wasn't as common as Arthur might have thought. 

The words Arthur overheard were distressing him, reminding them of the attitude at the War Office, so he footed the bill and walked out on the street. He made it to his father's in the early afternoon. Morris opened the door. “Mr Pendragon,” Morris said.

“Is my father home, Morris?”

“Indeed he is, sir.” Morris cocked his head at the stairway. “He's in his study.”

Arthur gave Morris his hat and coat. Morris handed them over to a maid, who made them disappear. “Good, I'll go up and--”

Morris politely coughed into his fist. “The Admiral has expressly said he oughtn't be disturbed.”

Arthur lifted an eyebrow. “I can sure he can make an exception this time.”

“He said he was not in for anyone, not even you, sir, in case you should drop by.” Morris delivered that quickly, something that impaired his usually perfect pronunciation. “But you can follow me into the drawing room. As soon as the Admiral is free, he'll come down and join you.”

Morris served him a brandy and fussed around him. Arthur smiled and told him he was fine and didn't need attendance. Morris kept fluffing the cushions dusted around him, trying to inch a blanket over his knees while Arthur valiantly tried to battle him away. When he couldn't do any more blanket adjusting, Morris took to stoking the fire, promptly coming back to have another go at the cushions.

“Morris, I'm fine.” Arthur lifted his shot glass, stretched his feet to show how close to the fire they actually were and arched his eyebrows to make sure Morris got the drift. “Truly.”

“I can fetch you a book from the library.”

Arthur shook his head. “That won't be necessary, thank you.”

At last Morris left and Arthur relaxed. His father only arrived an hour later, but Arthur didn't complain. He'd been left alone with his thoughts, been able to nurse his drink, and had a quiet time, which hadn't happened frequently during the past year and a half.

When his father appeared, Arthur leant over, deposited the glass on the salver Morris had left on the coffee table and stood.

“Come into my study,” his father said, stepping out again without waiting for Arthur to follow.

Arthur did anyway, finding himself in the chair he'd often occupied in his youth, the one facing his father's. “Father.”

“Arthur.” His father nodded stiffly. “I've heard you've done well and that you've been commended by the admiralty.”

“They lauded my report but someone else was also instrumental in collecting part of the data I gathered.” Arthur couldn't mention the details. Even though his father was in the Navy and had been privy to many state secrets himself, Arthur couldn't share any information, but he felt it was his duty to mention other people's contributions. Magier had died, and Merlin had risked more than he should have and could have ended up dead too if one single thing had gone wrong. They deserved their praise.

“You directed the operation, as I understand it,” Father said gravely. “You'll always have subordinates. Even ones you'll lose. The merit is still yours. Learn to accept the praise. It won't come often.”

“Then thank you, sir.”

Father drummed his fingers on his desk, looking out the window open at his side. “Glad we agree on that. And now thanks to this success you'll finally be able to leave that backwater of a country and lobby for a position here. You might even get into politics.”

Arthur blinked. “Father, as soon as I'm done here, I intend to go back to Warsaw.”

Father laughed. “That's ridiculous. I agree you had to take the posting when it was offered. Refusing would have been bad form. But now you have leverage to ask for a better posting. And nothing beats London.”

Arthur rose. “When my superiors say that I can go, I'll resume my position in Warsaw.”

Father's eyes narrowed. “Arthur, I don't get the meaning of this.”

Arthur pur his palm up. “With all due respect, sir. You don't need to. It's my decision.”

Arthur could see that he'd angered his father. The change in his expression was imperceptible – a little tightening of the mouth, a tiny line appearing in its corner, an eyelid quivering – but Arthur saw it. He still couldn't bring himself to acquiesce to his wishes. Father had controlled his life as a child, but now Arthur was a man, had been since he'd enrolled, and years had passed since then. There was nothing that was going to change his mind on the issue.

Still, that disagreement weighed on them for the rest of the day. Since the estate in Cornwall had been left to its own devices for too long and was probably scarcely habitable, father's country house was too far from London, and Arthur had relinquished his own city digs, he'd accepted Father invitation to stay at his Belgravia townhouse. Now that seemed like a mistake.

Father barely exchanged a word with him all day, pleading he had to work. Arthur knew that wasn't true. because at one point Father hied to the garden with a scarf around his neck and a novel tucked under his arm. He stayed there till dinner time.

Dinner was stilted and awkward. They spoke rarely and when they did it was about the food or people at the Admiralty they both knew. Even butler and head footman, used as they were to the less than warm atmosphere of Pendragon dinners, looked surprised at the coldness between father and son.

When Father was in a good mood, he would go on and on about the subject that had sent his mood, soaring. At those times he was affable and even convivial. Tonight he was none of those things, so Arthur limited himself to praising the soup and talking shop.

Thankfully the evening drew to an end when Father claimed he was tired. Arthur suspected him of faking so as to avoid further head-butting. Let that be. Overall, Arthur was content enough with Father opting out and further squabbling, to let go and retire to his own room.

In its privacy he changed for the night, sat on his bed and called Merlin. Getting through to him wasn't easy since he had to be switched through by no less than two operators, but at last Merlin answered.

“Arthur,” he said. He sounded so happy to hear from him Arthur smiled. 

“Merlin.” Arthur liked saying Merlin's name. “How you've been?”

“Fine,” Merlin said. “Fine. You don't really have to worry about me. I have work and everything's all right.”

“If there's any problem—” With Arthur's job there could be no end to problems. Problems could come at them in any shape or form.

“No problem,” Merlin told him. His voice rang clear and steady despite the line being disturbed. “I think the Britishh are keeping an eye on me. I'm safe.”

Arthur wasn't sure his compatriots were doing so out of the kindness of their own hearts, but he let that be for now. He had some friends in Warsaw and he could make sure one or two of them would keep an eye of Merlin. “So you've been busy.”

“With stuff you'd find boring.”

“Tell me all the same.”

Merlin did. Of novels and translations, the quirks of language. They spoke for more than twenty minutes, Merlin describing the ins and outs of his day and sharing little jokes with him. Arthur had never so much wanted to be with someone as in that moment. It was like missing a limb. 

Over Merlin's rambling about the workings of translation, Arthur said, “I miss you.”

There was a pause, perhaps covering a gasp. Then Merlin said, "Kocham cię" 

“What does that mean?” Arthur asked. “You know my Polish isn't good.”

“I'll tell you when you come back. Face to face.”

Arthur gripped the receiver more tightly. “I'll try to be back as soon as I can.” 

 

***** 

 

Circumstances turned Arthur into a liar. 

As announced, Arthur was summoned by the Admiralty on more occasions than one and questioned on the contents of his report. From the very beginning, he'd been ready to do that but he hadn't suspected that those meetings would be so far between, falling weeks apart.

Arthur went and said the same things over and over in answer to the self-same questions. At first he did it patiently. Later less so. It seemed there'd be no changes in politics or even strategy to come out of his efforts. Arthur felt what he was doing was useless and feared the worst would come to pass because of the government's sticking to the policies Chamberlain promoted and that the general public seemed to love.

Months passed this way, headlines became more and more dire. Arthur's misgivings were confirmed when an old friend of his, a War Office General Staff Attaché called Leon Verney, told him the latest from Czechoslovachia. “It's as we thought. It's even worse than yesterday. Hacha had a heart attack and Hitler has just declared Bohemia and Moravia a German Protectorate.”

Arthur nodded. “Poland's next.”

“That what everybody thinks now,” Leon said. “And this time we are going to do something about it. It's not official yet, but from what I heard, we're going to do what France has done.”

“Pledge support of Polish independence?” Arthur asked, thoughts churning fast in his brain. 

With the whole of Czechoslovachia in its power, Germany would be looking to Poland next. Not that it hadn't been before, but now that seemed even more clear than ever. Slovachia had declared itself independent, which meant it would become nothing more than a puppet state. Hungary, whose politics had started mirroring Germany's, had occupied Carpatho-Ukraine. Poland was now more threatened than ever.

“Yes,” Leon said. “This is seen as too much. We still want peace. Nobody wants another war but if Poland is attacked...”

Arthur knew what that meant. Throwing a few feeble excuses at Leon, he careened out of the War Office building and hailed the first cab he could find. He headed home, glad his father wasn't there, and used the phone in his study to place a call to Merlin. 

Merlin answered on the seventh ring, making Arthur worry. “You heard the news?”

“How could I not?” Merlin said. “It's everywhere.”

“Merlin, please, leave Poland.”

“I really can't. You see, my father fought his lifelong for his right to be a Pole. Back then, even when I was a baby, there were so many restrictions against the Poles.” Oddly enough, even though distance separated them, Merlin's voice rang clear as he poured his heart out. “Ever heard of the Prussian Settlement Commission?”

Arthur couldn't say that he had. He knew of current policies because he was a Navy Officer detailed to an embassy. That was his job, but he didn't know the particulars of what had happened when he was a kid. “No,” he said.

“Then let me tell you,” Merlin said. “When part of Poland was under Prussian rule, the Prussians decided it would be nifty to weaken of Polish landowners; they bought them out. Favoured Prussian investors. They tried to erase Polish culture. Its religion, customs, even its language by establishing Prussian investors in the area, isolating Poles so German settlements were majority.” Merlin cleared his throat, sounding as if he was pained. “Ever wonder why I'm a Prince but have nothing? Their economic policies. Acquisitions. Ever wonder why I speak German? They germanised the educational system, so even if I went to school after Poland was declared independent most people around me still spoke German as a matter of fact.”

“Merlin--”

“My father fought tooth and nail against that,” Merlin said. He sounded torn and Arthur wished he could be there for him. “He taught me Polish on the sly when I was a child. On the sly, Arthur. And now you want me to leave...”

“No,” Arthur said. “I don't want that for you. But if war breaks out--”

“We'll come to it when we come to it,” Merlin said and Arthur was under the impression Merlin didn't want to discuss the subject further. 

So Arthur did what he could to put Merlin at ease and switched to another subject. Before the call was at an end, Merlin asked, “If there's a war you won't be coming back, will you?”

“Merlin--”

“I know, I know. Want me translate that phrase you didn't understand that other time on the phone?”

Arthur thought back to their previous phone calls, and immediately got what Merlin was talking about. “The phrase you promised to translate once I was back in Warsaw?”

“Yes, that one.”

“No,” Arthur said. “You'll tell me face to face.”

“All right.” Arthur heard the fine notes of a gentle sigh. “I'll wait.”

Over the next few weeks, Arthur lost all hope of being immediately accorded permission to return to Warsaw just yet. A letter coming directly from Lord Stanhope's office informed him he was due to attend a series of meetings in Paris. It wasn't spelt out, but it was clear he was meant to share part of the information he'd gathered with the French, most importantly the part regarding the new German tanks specifications. The French were a buffer against Germany, sharing Britain's new alliace with Poland, and passing them some form of intelligence seemed like the thing to do.

And yet the French were as obstinate about the Maginot line and as insistent on its functionality – “It's our pride,” one of Petain's aides told him – as English public opinion had been in supporting Chamberlain.

“What about Belgium?” Arthur asked as politely as he could. “You must consider the possibility of an invasion via Belgium.”

As a consequence of that statement Arthur was scoffed at by most and praised by a vocal minority who seemed to be as despised as Arthur was. Everyone wanted to believe the measures they'd put in place would work and that there'd be no problem.

Meanwhile England extended her alliance to Poland 'in the event of any action which clearly threatened Polish independence'. The terms of that alliance needed, of course, to be discussed. As a consequence Poland's foreign minister paid a visit to the United Kingdom. 

And so it was that Arthur missed Merlin being in London. Apparently Merlin had been hired for interpreter duties and was now part of the team Minister Beck had taken to London with him.

While this happened, Arthur was stuck in Paris dining with military people and the crème of Parisian society. He was allowed into the private salons of the best restaurants and invited to take night caps in fine bars and sultry jazz clubs. But he still wanted to go back to London before Merlin had to leave it.

That didn't happen. A series of orders he received put him in Paris for the duration of the spring. He was to liaise. By the time he made it back to London Merlin had been long gone, and the summer was on its way.

 

***** 

Leon Verney was the one that broke the news to him. It was a hot day and Arthur was watching a friendly cricket match at the Southhampton County Cricket Club. 

Hat in hand, summer suit battered from travelling, Leon made his way to him through the stands, scrambling over a gentleman that looked less than happy about it, and over a poodle that tried to get a bite at his white trouser leg. Leon sank in the seat next to him. “I motored direct from London.”

That got Arthur's attention. “What's happened?” Since he was on call from London he hadn't been able to go back to Warsaw yet, but had been allowed to take a few days to spend out in the country, away from the heat and stress of London. That also meant that he'd been far away from most news sources.

“We were all wrong regarding Russia; our negotiations with Molotov have fallen through,” said Leon. “The Russians have signed a non-aggression pact with Germany.”

That meant that Germany was now free to act in the East.

“Leon, how's that motor of yours?”

“In need of petrol.”

“I'll see to that,” said Arthur. “I need you to get me to London.”

Leon dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief as white as his suit. “Right now?”

“Yes,” Arthur said. “I want a word with Admiral Taliesin or Lord Stanhope.”

“Why?”

One of the players hit a batsman very low on the pad but the umpire made it clear he wasn't out.

“Because I need to be redeployed to Warsaw.”

“If war breaks out,” Leon said, “there'll be no Warsaw posting.”

“I realise,” Arthur said, “but there's something I must do.”

After having refilled with pertrol, they started their drive towards London. Unfortunately since it was so hot, Leon's Morgan 4/4 started misbehaving, ending up with an over-heated engine. In order not to damage it more, they were compelled to pull up onto the motorway's shoulder and wait for it to cool off. This meant that they got back to London too late for office hours. 

This delayed Arthur by a day. Yet on the following one he managed to get an appointment with Admiral Taliesin, if not with Stanhope. “Ah, Arthur, how's your father?” the admiral asked. 

“He's fine, sir,” Arthur said, standing at attention while he did so. “There's something I must ask you.”

“Ah yes,” the Admiral said. “You requested an interview. If it's about your new posting and promotion--”

“No, sir,” Arthur said, dropping his hand from his salute. “I need permission to be sent back to Warsaw.”

“Warsaw?” the Admiral asked. “I'm afraid that with the latest developments that posting isn't going to be available for long.” The Admiral studied Arthur. “Besides, I thought you were vying for a London posting.”

Arthur's jaw fell open. “Why would you think so, sir?”

“Your father mentioned it to me during a gala dinner shortly after your arrival this January,” Admiral Taliesin told him. “I didn't have anything to offer you then, but I did my best to keep you in London as you wanted.”

Arthur's face heated and he had to fight not to say something that would be deemed highly inappropriate. “There's been a misunderstanding, sir. I asked Lord Stanhope to be allowed back to Warsaw. I made it clear to my Warsaw superiors. I never petitioned for a London posting.”

Admiral Taliesin's brow showed a few marked lines. “I never suspected this. Well, if you truly want to go back to Warsaw to close up your business there, then I can see no objection, but I hope you do realise that there'll soon be a war on that front. It seems inevitable after the bloody Russian's betrayal of our negotiations...”

Arthur had little time or patience for Admiral Taliesin explosion regarding the Russians, who'd obviously been looking after their own interests; he wanted executive orders. “Sir, if I may, can I be given orders?”

Admiral Taliesin rang for his “They'll be drawn up immediately. God knows you deserve the posting of your choice.”

Arthur felt a twinge of self-reproach. Admiral Taliesin had simply been doing what he thought Arthur wanted. It was Father who had meddled. “Thank you, sir. And if I might ask for a British passport?”

Admiral Taliesin's eyebrow twitched. “I assume we're not talking about someone who's misplaced theirs.”

“No, sir.”

“Well, I don't want to know for whom it is,” said Taliesin. “But you'll have to wait a few days for it.”

 

***** 

 

It took three days to get a passport and even so Arthur had been lucky it hadn't taken longer or more than a long siege laid at his Admiralty friends' door. 

Calling in favours wasn't done with though and Arthur had to beg to be airlifted to France. From Paris onwards he'd have to make it to Warsaw by train, making use of his diplomatic passport. 

Leon, who'd accompanied him as far as Paris's Gare de Lyon, told him, “That passport will be useless if you get stuck in Germany or Poland and a war is going on.”

The train was looming behind him. “I won't--”

“Arthur,” Leon said, a hand on his arm, “I know about the second passport you asked for. Whoever you're doing this for, think about it. You're risking your life here.”

Arthur's eyes hardened. “I'll be out of the country before that can happen.”

Leon didn't let go of him. “Arthur, have you got an actual plan to get out of the Poland?”

“Yes,” Arthur says. “I'm still an Embassy member. I'll get... the person the passport is for, then we'll follow the embassy evacuation plans.”

Leon's palm opened so that Arthur was free. “As long as you know what you're doing.”

Arthur tipped his hat at Leon before boarding the train. Starting in Paris, the Nord Express train would touch Berlin before reaching Warsaw. For privacy reasons, Arthur had booked himself a sleeping car with a single bed, to which, apart from eating, he kept until, two days later they hit the Polish border. The moment they stopped at the first station past the border, Arthur, feeling safer now they were off potential hostile territory, hopped off to stretch his legs. The train would stay in the station for a while and he'd had enough of being couped up in his wagon lit.

He'd walked as far as the newsagent's, when a headline caught his attention. With his scant knowledge of Polish he made out only a few words, but those were enough to make him buy the newspaper. He looked at the photo displayed centre page, at the column full of dense text, and tried to suss out more. “What the hell?” he said in a low voice.

One of the train passengers he recognised from the restaurant wagon, an English businessman who carried his valise everywhere, said, “Yes, indeed. It seems the Germans are now claiming one of their radio stations has been attacked by Polish soldiers.”

Arthur grimace. “So this is their pretext.”

“I'm sure it is,” his fellow passenger said. “I don't think Warsaw would start a war. They have everything to lose from one.”

Arthur crumpled up the newspapers. “But this will. This will start a war.”

His fellow passenger said, “As soon as we get to Warsaw I'll try to get a plane out of the country. I, for one, won't stay there longer than necessary.”

By the time Arthur arrived in Warsaw, German troops had already attacked Poland. England and France hadn't declared war on Germany yet, but they soon would. The news was everywhere. 

Heart heavy with worry, Arthur traversed a Warsaw that was already in uproar to get to Merlin's flat.  
He ran up the stairs and sounded the bell multiple times. When nobody opened, Arthur tampered with the locl.

A quick exploration of the flat revealed it was empty. Having established this, panic eating at him, he went to the old embassy lodgings still rented in his name, hoping to find Merlin there, but Merlin wasn't to be found there either. The flat looked untouched; Merlin had never used it, evidently. 

Ransacking his flat for traces of things Merlin had left behind, Arthur found a few business cards that belonged to him, the addresses of a few of his former employers imprinted on them. 

Arthur tried telephoning each of them but none knew where Merlin was. “I'm sorry,” one said, voice coming across as ragged, “but in a matter of a few days we'll be besieged. I have neither the time nor the inclination to supply you with information about our former freelance employees.”

Arthur turned to the British Embassy for help. The building was in uproar just as the city was. Employees milling about with boxes that were being carried outside, secretaries stalking down corridors, staff burning documents. 

Arthur ran into Alice. “Alice, Alice,” he grabbed her by the middle – “what's going on?”

“We're packing up,” she said. “Orders have come to that effect.”

“Where are you going?”

“Lukow,” she said. “It's a town sixty miles north of here. If the Germans advance further, and they already have Danzing, then the plan is continuing on towards Romania. We're to protect Polish government members.”

“Good,” Arthur told her. “Look, Alice, I know you're busy but I need you to do something for me.”

Alice shifted the box of documents she was carrying in her arms, a staffer nearly running her over in his haste. “Oh, Arthur, you know it, anything for you.”

He smiled and kissed her cheek. “I need you to find me Merlin.”

“Wojtek?”

“Yes,” Arthur said. “I have a passport for him. I need to get him out of the country. He's half a Briton by blood. Britain will declare war on Germany and you know it. He can't stay here with that pedigree, but I can't find him anywhere:”

Alice gave him a motherly look. “Oh, Arthur, if you can't find him, I don't know how I can.”

“I know there's spies on him,” Arthur told her with an arch of his brows. “Find their latest report. You have access to both du Bois and Monmouth's offices.”

Alice's brow pinched. “Arthur, you're being so stupid about this.”

Arthur shook his head and tried to smile despite feeling frantic, as if only movement and action could get him somewhere. “You know that's not stupidity.”

Alice sighed. “All right,” she said. “Sit there tight. I'll try and find what you're looking for. Thankfully it's low clearance.”

Still bearing her box, Alice shuffled off. Arthur sank in a corridor chair and started waiting. A glance at his clock told him it was nearly half past four in the afternoon. It was funny that he should have been looking then, so that he would forever know the time it had happened, but he heard a conflagration, and on the heels of that the ring of a phone.

Lord Monmouth's voice rang throughout the floor as he barked, “What do you mean, they're attacking you. The US isn't involved.”

Arthur took that to mean Monmouth had just got a 'confidential' call from the US ambassador.

A pause, silence, then more explosions, a fire alarm in the distance. “Bombed? You're being bombed by the Luftwaffe? Oh my God. They'll strike here next.”

The flurry of activity redoubled, officers now running along corridors, counsellors taking stairs two at a time, soldiers helping to fetch and carry. 

Alice startled him by handing him a folded note. “He still owes a family mansion just outside of Chojnice. Must be dilapidated by now, but it's his. He's been spotted there by SIS agents who've kept an eye on him ever since he worked for us.”

Arthur pocketed the note. “Thank you.” He rose.

Alice splayed her palm across his chest. “Arthur, it's closer to the German border than Warsaw. A lot closer.”

“I've got to get him.”

“The embassy can get you out of Poland as part of our evacuation scheme, but not if you get captured and not if you're not here by the sixth.”

“I'll be there,” Arthur told her. He kissed her good-bye and without looking back he took the stairs down and out two at a time. 

He borrowed a car from the lot of embassy car parked outside on Smolna Street and motored westwards, out of Warsaw.

 

**** 

 

Driving out of Warsaw wasn't easy at first; the city was under attack and most people must have thought it safer to flee to the country, where bombs weren't likely to get them. 

But steering west and back towards Germany, and the front, was way easier. Nobody but Polish soldiers were doing that. Arthur was stopped twice on the way but his British passport allowed him through. “Though I wouldn't go if I were you,” a Polish lieutenant told him. 

“Is Chojnice still unoccupied?” 

The Polish lieutenant instinctively looked westwards as if he could see the town. “I shouldn't be telling you this, but as far as I know it is. Just don't set up shack there.”

Arthur nodded and put the embassy car into gear. Out of prudence he stuck to country roads that were less likely to become a target for German aviation. No other problems arose though he knew he hadn't made it yet. First he had to find Merlin and then he had to rejoin the evacuee Embassy. There was no other way to get out of the country. 

He made it to Chojnice by dinner time, the sun already low on the horizon. In halting Polish he asked the locals for the Balinowski mansion. An old farmer painstakingly explained to him where he could find it. “I worked for the old owner for years,” he added. “He was a good man.”

Arthur nodded before driving off in the direction specified.

The Balinowski manor in Chojnice was a turreted building lost away in the countryside between the town and a stretch of woods. When Arthur got out of the car, he could smell resin on the air. If the view hadn't told him as much, this alone would have strongly suggested he'd left the city far behind. 

Gravel crunching under his feet, Arthur walked up to the unhinged, rusty gate and up an avenue of trees that led him to the back of the house. In the garden he found Merlin sitting at a round table, an old book in his hands he was trying to read in the twilight.

Arthur made his step heavier so as to make more noise and cause Merlin to look up. 

Merlin did and broke into a slow, sweet smile. He closed the book, stood and jogged up to him, feasting his eyes of him as though Arthur were candycake and he a starving man. “What are you doing here?” His fists shook before he wrapped his arms around Arthur, pulling him close.

Almost against Merlin's neck, Arthur whispered, “I've come to get you out of the country.” He stepped out of Merlin's embrace, slipped his hand inside his pocket and eased Merlin's passport out of it. He handed it to Merlin, who bent his head to look. “Merlin Emrys?” he said. “How did you know?”

“Merlin, I work for SIS,” Arthur said. “Do you honestly think they couldn't look up your mum's maiden name?”

Merlin's eyebrows knit together. “No, I-- Arthur I can't come.”

“Because you think your father wouldn't want you to?” Arthur said, voice rising. He made himself breathe out and continue more softly. “Merlin, he'd want you to be safe and being half English in occupied Poland won't make you that. It's a question of hours and the United Kingdom is going to declare war on Germany.”

Merlin looked back at the table. “You see that book? My father wrote it. It's a local history treatise. About our traditions. He finished it before Independence but couldn't get printed. He got it printed in '20.”

Arthur grabbed Merlin by the shoulder. “Merlin, this is different. Besides, I'm sure your mother would have wanted you to be safe and to acknowledge your Welsh heritage too.”

Merlin looked at the gravel, his passport bent in two in his hands. “I--”

“She'd want you safe,” Arthur pleaded. “And when it's over you can come back.”

Merlin lifted his head.

 

***** 

Avalon Castle, Cornwall, 1946

 

Arthur turned in his bed, instinctively seeking out warmth. His arm landed on cold sheets and that jolted him out of sleep. He blinked, and as expected, he saw that the other side of the bed had been vacated. Arthur flipped on his side and saw Merlin standing naked at the window.

He was pulling at the curtains and looking over the park, basking in the dawn light. “Merlin, come back to bed. It's awfully early.”

Merlin hummed under his breath.

Arthur sat up, sheets pooling at his waist. “Merlin, come on, what's up?”

“Nothing's up.”

Arthur passed a hand through his hair. “Is this about the Polish referendum?”

“You don't really think that was a free referendum, do you?”

“That 90% of the populace voted yes to all three questions?” Arthur asked. “No, I don't. It's obvious that the results were manipulated.”

“I'll never go back, will I?” Merlin asked. “It'd be like trading an old oppression for a new one. It's Stalin's turn now.”

Arthur wasn't sure what to say. He ducked his head, pulling up the blankets. “You can stay here. I mean it. Forever if need be.”

Merlin's head snapped in his direction. He let go of the curtain and padded over to the bed. He sat in Arthur's lap and grabbed his face, putting a kiss to his lips and one to his forehead. “I didn't mean it like that. I didn't... I'd love to go back to Poland with you. You I'd never leave.”

Arthur opened his mouth to speak but Merlin silenced him with another kiss, a dab of his tongue against Arthur's that lit a fire down his spine. 

“Kocham cię,” Merlin said against his lips.

“I do too,” Arthur said. “You know I do.”

Merlin's hand slipped down to the shoulder that was wounded in '44, his fingers hot and dissolving the knot of pain he felt there. “One day,” Merlin said, “I'll take you home to Poland and you'll see how beautiful it is in times of peace. But I'm happy now. Here. With you.”

Arthur kissed Merlin's chin and the corner of his mouth. “Me too.”

Merlin laughed gently, his melancholy dissolving. “You can't always say me too! That's not how it works.”

Arthur tilted his head to one side, arms solidly wrapped around Merlin's middle.

“No? How does it work then?”

“Like this,” Merlin said, taking his lips again.

 

The End.


End file.
